Dragon Age: Soul of the Night
by Untoldsin1313
Summary: Six Wardens. One from every Origin. Add their Lieutenant and Fereldan may just have a chance. M!Cousland/Leliana M!Surana/Morrigan F!Cousland/F!Mahariel M!Brosca/F!Aeducan F!Tabris/Zev.
1. On the Streets of Dust Town

Chapter 1 On the Streets of Dust Town

Orzammar

Garik Brosca strode through the Commons of Orzammar, ignoring the glares and offended looks of the other castes. Leske, his long time friend, trailed after him. Garik was a bit short, even for a dwarf, but he was stocky, with long reddish brown hair tied in a ponytail. "I'm about ready to feed Beraht his teeth, Lesk," Garik grumbled.

"I know, but for now, let's just do what he says, Duster. He's already twitchy enough."

Garik smirked. Leske was referring to Oskias, the merchant that Beraht had sent the pair of them after. Eager to tweak Beraht's nose, and pocket a little coin while he was at it, Garik had convinced Oskias to hand over a pair of lyrium nuggets and let the merchant go. Afterwards, the pair had convinced Beraht that Oskias was dead, though the Stone-forsaken bastard had sent them on a second errand.

"So this is a gift, huh? I've never been to a Proving," Leske said as they walked.

"Neither have I. What are they like?" Garik asked.

"You know, two sweaty Warrior Caste men, all oiled up by servant girls and wrapped in shining smith-wrought steel… hundreds of beautiful women watching from the stands, wanting nothing more than to rub them down afterwards."

"Whoa, easy there!" Garik chuckled. "Don't stain anything."

"Don't tell me you've never wanted to sneak in and see one for yourself."

"I always wanted to be the one in the ring."

"Hah!" Leske laughed. "I bet you could beat the beards off most of those overstuffed swaggers. Wouldn't that be nice? And if gold coins fell from my mouth whenever I spoke, that would be grand. And only slightly less likely."

"Why would the Grey Wardens care who wins a Proving?" Garik questioned.

"Think about their responsibility Take these humans and elves who've spent their whole lives flitting around and eating figs and teach them to fight darkspawn. Of course they're going to need a dwarf to help them. Here they get to pick from the best of the vein."

"Doesn't joining the Wardens mean going to the surface?"

"Not like turning your back on the Stone to take a Caravan topside. Fighting darkspawn is a sacred duty. The king decreed long ago that a dwarf who joins the Wardens keeps his caste."

"Why should we care what happens topside?"

"We don't. Unless there are enough darkspawn to go up there, because that means there's something leading them. And that means an archdemon. And _that _means a Blight. Which means possibly the end of life as we know it."

Garik nodded, his curiosity sated. "Let's get moving before we miss the Proving."

"From your lips to my ears," Leske chuckled.

They passed the proving guard with little issue once Garik flashed the pass Beraht had given him. "Stone's embrace!" Leske breathed as they entered the Main Hall. "That's one of them. One of the Grey Wardens." There was no mistaking the silver griffin emblazoned on the cuirass of the human standing in the middle of the hall. He looked younger than Garik had anticipated. Most Grey Wardens that Garik knew of were much older. The human's hair was dark red, resembling the color of blood, and tied back in a braided ponytail. His matching beard was trimmed neatly and nowhere near as long as some of the nobles or warriors. But it was the human's eyes that really caught Garik's attention. They shined a bluish grey, resembling fire hardened steel, and when they caught the light from a torch the right way, they seemed to glow. Garik was drawn from his thoughts by Leske. "Oh I dare you to go over and talk to him. Say, 'Welcome to Orzammar, Warden Ser. May I drink your bath water?'"

Garik swatted his best friend before striding over to the human. The young man turned to him with a friendly smile. "Stone-met and blessings on your house," he said. When Garik's eyebrows shot up, the human's gaze became quizzical. "That was the proper greeting for an outsider when my commander last visited Orzammar. Has it changed? Or is there a reason you are looking at me so strangely?"

Garik scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "In my part of Orzammar, we just go with 'Hello,"

The human chuckled. "We do the same in my part of Ferelden. Hello, then. My name is Conrí Cousland. I'd say, 'of the Grey Wardens,' but I suspect you already know that."

"I am Garik of…" Garik sighed. He wasn't going to lie. Not to a Warden. "Of nobody." Conrí's expression changed, though not in a way Garik expected. He looked… troubled.

"Ah…. That's what the face brand means then. I remember that now."

"I'm sorry to bother you…"

"I never turn down the chance to meet someone new," Conrí told him with a smile. "When we visit Orzammar, we tend to remain in the Diamond Quarter. You forget how much of the city you miss."

Garik smirked. He liked this human. "Is it true you're here looking for recruits?"

"The Wardens are always looking for those who have the courage to spend their lives in battle against the darkspawn. It's rare we find those with both the skill and the will. The best Wardens are ruthless to their enemies, compassionate to their friends, and inspiring to their troops. It's a lot to look for, but I hope to find it here. And I hope you also may find what you are looking for." Conrí inclined his head and strode off, heading towards the VIP booth.

"I can't believe you talked to him! A Grey Warden!" Leske laughed, slugging Garik playfully on the shoulder as they made their way towards the fighters' prep area. They quickly found Everd's room, but what they found inside was not bracing. Everd was on the floor, groaning and talking in his sleep and the room stank of booze.

"Sod it!" Leske swore. "He's stone drunk! He could draw a dead man for his bout and still lose. Ach! Beraht's going to kill us if we slip up here. He's already jumpy enough after that stunt with Oskias—Hey… I just had an idea…

"I could put on his armor. You know, fight in his name," Garik suggested.

"That's much better than my idea. I was going to say we should go up into the stands and start a rockslide, but you're brilliant! You'll _be_ Everd. You'll go out in his armor, keep down the visor, and fight in his name. He wins, Beraht wins, everybody wins. Except all the Warrior Caste braggarts you leave kissing dust," Leske cackled. "I sodding love the way you think, my friend. I was afraid Beraht was going to kill us!"

"If I do this, I'll win by skill alone. I won't use the drug."

"You've got a heart of steel, salroka. Get in the armor."

The duo had just finished adjusting the last of the armors straps when the Proving Master's voice boomed down the hall. "Bout three is next. Officer Mainar versus the warrior Everd! Fighters, report to the ring."

"No more time!" Leske groaned, tightening the last harness. "Make sure you have everything and go tell the proving guard when you're ready to fight. And don't forget to keep your helmet down!" he added, slamming the visor into place.

Conrí watched the Proving in the Royal Booth next to the Proving Master. This Everd had demonstrated serious skill, even defeating a Silent Sister. Perhaps he would accept a position as a Warden.

"Everd will advance to the final bout, to decide who is the true champion of the ring, against-"

The Proving Master was cut off as a dwarf stumbled into the ring. "Wha-?" he grunted drunkenly. Garik's eyes widened as he recognized the real Everd. "Is my bout a'ready? Hey! That's my armor!"

"Who are you?!" the Proving Master demanded. "How dare you interrupt this sacred-"

"Wait!" Mainar shouted. "I know that man. That's Everd! Then… what imposter did I fight?"

"Remove your helmet warrior, and let all who watched see your face."

Garik glanced at the numerous guards closing in on him. There was no way to escape. With a sigh, knowing what would come next, Garik reluctantly removed the helm, tossing it aside defiantly. The crowd roared in anger, seeing the brand on his right cheek. He glared around, not backing down.

Conrí stood as well, his face contemplative. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully even as the Proving Master spat like a rabid mongrel. "Castless! You insult the very nature of this Proving! Guards, take this… _filth_ away!"

"Hold your men, I pray you," Conrí implored. "This warrior has defeated the best you have to offer. Is that not what this Proving is for?"

"We are honored by your presence, Warden, but this Proving is not solely for you. There are laws that have governed this arena for a thousand years," the Proving Master turned to Garik, disdain dripping from his tone. "This man is no warrior! He is castless, rejected by the ancestors. His very footsteps pollute the stone. He has no place here!"

"Except as your champion," Conrí told him coolly.

Garik was roused from unconsciousness by a familiar voice. "Are you awake yet? Psst! Can you hear me?" Garik got up, his head throbbing. "How hard did they sodding hit you anyway? Did you have to put up such a fight?"

"Leske?" Garik asked rubbing his head. "What happened?"

"As soon as everyone saw your face brand, the place went mad. Shut all the doors, examined everyone for family and caste. One of the guards recognized me and figured we must be working together. They burned three candles to the stump interrogating me about who put us up to this. I think they knew, ya know, about Beraht."

"This doesn't look like your typical guard cell," Garik commented. The bars were slightly rusted and the place stank of blood.

"Huh, I guess not. I mean, I've been in most of them. They don't usually have… this many stains on the walls. Uh, any chance you see a way out?"

"Good. You're both awake. Beraht will be happy to hear that," a female castless came into the room. It was Jarvia, Beraht's lieutenant. "You caused a lot of trouble today. Beraht lost a hundred sovereigns for lord Vollney. The entire proving was declared invalid and the Assembly already called for an investigation. You can't imagine the state Beraht was in when he told me to get you."

"Where are we?" Garik demanded.

"That's right," Jarvia laughed smugly. "You've never had the privilege of being down here. You're in one of the deep cells in Beraht's estate. He built it into the ruins of old Orzammar. Plenty of room to store gold and lyrium. And nice thick walls so no one can hear the screams."

"But how did we get here?"

"I brought you. You've got every guardsmen at that Proving thinking if he takes your head off, he'll be blessed by the Ancestors forever. But they know who's hand holds the whip. When Beraht claimed you, they knew who would get to watch your last breath."

"Let him come," Garik snarled. "He'll see I don't scare easy."

"I don't think scaring you is Beraht has in mind. You risked exposing him before the entire Warrior Caste. Now they're asking questions, and as long as you have tongues to answer them, you're a threat. Have a good last night, boys. Beraht'll be by soon to make sure you maintain your silence." With a last smug smile, Jarvia left, chuckling.

Garik cursed as a jailor came into view, no doubt left by Jarvia. In his frustration, he kicked the door to his cell, making it rattle and clank. "Hey, leave off with your noise! You're givin' me a headache!" the jailor grumbled his dull tone irritated. This guy obviously wasn't too bright. An idea struck Garik, so he put on a mad sounding voice.

"Ooh, that's how it started for me too!" he cackled.

"What do you mean?" the jailor leaned in. With one swift movement, Garik reached through the bars, grabbed the neck of the idiot's armor and slammed his head repeatedly against the bars. The jailor went down with a pained groan, the gashes on his head gushing blood. Shaking blood from his hand, Garik rooted through the jailor's pockets, pulling a key from one. He opened his cell door quickly, and did the same for Leske's.

"If we wanna get away with this, we can't leave one man alive to tell Beraht what we've done," said Leske as the pair made their way over to the chest holding their belongings. Once suited and armed, the pair of Dust Town rogues made their way through Beraht's estate, slaughtering any they came upon.

After far too many skirmishes, Garik slumped against a wall, sliding to the floor as he struggled to catch his breath. "Ugh… how deep are these tunnels?" he muttered.

"Ya got me, Duster," Leske groaned as he plopped down next to Garik.

After a long stretch of silence, marred only by heavy breathing, Garik spoke again. "Ya know, Lesk, ya don't have to stick with me here. You could probably find your own way out."

Leske chuckled tiredly. "Ach, knock that talk off and get your head outta the dust, Brand. I've stuck by you since we were both stealing bread and that ain't about to change."

Garik smirked to cover the happiness at his friends loyalty. "Alright. It's on your head now."

"What else is new?" the pair rose and continued on. Soon the caves began to resemble the lower levels of a basement. Not long after, they came across an intersection of three doorways. "We must be getting close to an exit."

Garik approached a door and beckoned Leske closer. The pair of rogues pressed their ears to the cool metal.

"… If that turncoat brother of hers can't keep his head down, I have no use for precious Rica either," Garik heard the bastard muttering.

"Rica?" asked one of Beraht's guards. "That the one you've got all done up in lace? Ooh, I've been wanting to get my hands on that!"

The other guard chuckled. "I know what you mean."

"She's yours if you want her, boys," Beraht chuckled. "And let me tell ya, tastes as good as it looks." Garik growled ferally, drawing his daggers as he kicked the door open and stalked toward Beraht. "What is _that _doing out of its cage?" he asked with a drawl.

"_It…_" Garik snarled. "Was just looking for a way out… but now I'm here for your blood."

"Let's teach this little duster a lesson," Beraht sneered. The trio charged the escaped prisoners, drawing blades. Garik grinned savagely as he ducked under one of the thug's axe and drove his dagger into the duster's ribs, piercing his lung. The thug went down with a bloody gurgle, the dagger still embedded in his torso. Leske slipped behind the second thug when his attention was drawn to Garik and slit his throat.

Garik sidestepped Beraht's swing as Leske fell back, knowing Garik wanted Beraht all to himself. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this day, you sodding cave tick," Garik growled as he spun his remaining dagger.

Beraht chuckled condescendingly. "I have an inkling, you waste of space. Ya know, before you charged in here like you own the place, I was just planning on cutting your whore sister loose. But now I think I'm gonna pay her and your mother one last little visit."

Garik snarled. "Not while I breathe,"

"That's the point," Beraht swung his shield, aiming to stun the rogue, but Garik dodged back and side stepped when Beraht swung his axe again. Garik grabbed his former 'employer's' wrist twisted and wrenched the axe from Beraht's grip. When Beraht turned to retaliate, Garik drove his dagger into Beraht's chest. Beraht's face dropped in shock, looking down at the blade embedded to the hilt through his chestplate.

"Just another duster, eh?" Garik growled, rearing back with Beraht's axe. The crime lord's face was still locked into an expression of shock even as his own axe sliced his head from his body. Garik wrenched his dagger from the headless corpse, letting it fall to the stone.

Garik barely had time to spit on what was once Beraht before Leske came forward and slapped him on the back. "Did you see him standing there all 'When we're done with you!' and you just charged in and sodding slaughtered him! You have to be the luckiest duster in Orzammar. Beraht's dead and we're standing here! Hail to the sodding king!"

"I had hoped he'd have time to beg for mercy," Garik chuckled darkly.

"Oh, he was begging," Leske assured him. "That look of utter surprise on his face when he tasted his own blood! That's as close to begging as Beraht gets."

"I have to make sure Rica, is okay," Garik muttered, remembering Beraht's words.

"Well, he sure was talking like she was still alive. But I won't turn down a chance to take another peek," Leske grinned. "Hey, could you tell Rica I killed him? I mean, it doesn't do you any good if she thinks you're the most virile warrior in all the stone."

"You really want to say that while I'm holding a weapon?" Garik asked, his eyebrow raising humorously as he belted the axe and wrenched his dagger from the carta thug's ribs.

"Good point," Leske chuckled. "Fortunately, if Beraht's got them trained the way he said he has, it should be a good long while before any guardsmen show up."

_Really, Lesk?_ Garik thought sourly. They were already surrounded.

"Drop your weapons and walk down slowly," said the Proving Master. "We will use force if you resist." Garik snorted. Before the Master could continue a pair of familiar faces interrupted. It was Conrí of the Grey Wardens followed closely by Rica.

"I'm the victim here! I was kidnapped!" Garik snapped before the Proving Master could continue

"You do not speak until the shapers have judged you!"

"One moment, my friend," Conrí spoke up. "Did you not suggest this Beraht might have arranged their convenient escape?"

"Regardless, the penalty for impersonating a higher caste is death."

"If this Beraht is as influential as you say, perhaps he also masterminded with Everd's impersonation."

"Last I saw Beraht he was suffering a bad case of dead," Garik snickered, thumbing the axe in his belt.

"He's dead?" the Proving Master balked. "Beraht had many enemies but also powerful allies. They-"

"Beraht would have butchered us if he hadn't killed him first!" Leske protested.

"Your friend has once again shown his courage," Conrí told the casteless. "We Grey Wardens travel far and wide in search of those with the potential to join our ranks. It seems like I've found one. Let me make my offer formal then. I, Conrí Cousland, Lieutenant of the Grey, extend the invitation for you to join our order."

"This man is a criminal!" the Proving Master protested. "You can't do this!"

"I can and I am," Conrí told the aged dwarf firmly. "It would mean travelling to the surface lands and thus leaving your people, but it allow you the chance to fight against the darkspawn and the Blight."

"What's the trick?" Garik asked, suspicious of this sudden charity.

"It's no trick, but it is a dangerous life. I cannot promise your safety. Neither can I give you anything in return for these hazards. In joining us, you leave behind all you've known."

Garik was silent for a long moment. "I'd like to talk to my sister before I decide."

Conrí nodded in understanding. "I'd wager your friend would like a word with you as well. Why don't you see what they have to say before you answer?"

Rica darted forward. "I couldn't believe it when Ser Conrí said he wanted to recruit you," she gushed. "I was ready to kill you when I heard what you did at the Proving, but it worked out for the best.

"What are you doing here, sis?" Garik asked.

"When I heard you've been arrested, I ran straight to the Proving Grounds, but you'd already disappeared. That's when Ser Conrí said he wanted to invite you into the Grey Wardens. I almost fell over."

Garik sighed and placed his gloved hand on his sister's cheek. "I don't want to leave you alone here,"

"Those are the rules of the order," Rica told him sadly. "All Wardens leave their families behind."

"But how will you take care of yourself and Mother?"

"Please don't hold yourself back because of me. I think, for the first time, mother and I will be fine. I spent the afternoon with my new patron," Rica went on, snickering at her brothers sour, slightly disgust look. "If everything works out… maybe I can even greet you as an equal if you return."

"Truly? You won't starve?"

"I promise. My patron would never allow it. He has already promised to move Mother and me into better lodging, where he can find me more quickly when he wants me."

Garik smiled in spite of the stabbing image of his sister with some noble snob. "If I'm leaving I should tell Mother goodbye."

"When I left she was passed out," Rica told him sourly. "I couldn't even wake her to tell her you'd been arrested. Don't let her ruin this day. I'll tell her you've gone to the surface for a better life than she ever gave you."

Garik kissed his sister on the brow before turning to Leske. "Those guys must have seriously cracked your skull," Leske breathed. "You're not going to turn down being a Grey Warden are you?"

"I don't want to leave Rica..."

"Well don't you worry about that," Leske snickered. "Ol' Leske'll take care of her…"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Garik snorted with laughter. "You're right, I should go."

"Well, go back and tell him yes before he comes to his senses!"

Garik nodded and strode over to where Conrí had elected to wait. A small number of other humans had joined him. "I take it you have spoken to your friend and sister?"

"I have," Garik told him. "I accept, if you'll have me."

Conrí smiled. "Then before these witnesses, I welcome you to the Order. Ulrich," he turned to a slightly older man with a bow across his back. "Take our new brother to one of the smiths and get him kitted out with proper armor and weapons."

"Right away, Lieutenant,"

"Garik, we will meet you in the Diamond Quarter at the Warden's retreat."

Garik bowed and followed Ulrich.


	2. A Bird in a Gilded Cage

Chapter 2 A Bird in a Gilded Cage

The Fade

Tristan Surana grimaced as the rage demon fell to his onslaught of cold spells. He shook his hands to rid them of the hoarfrost that had gathered on them before turning his attention to the large black bear that had assisted him. Though this wasn't a normal bear.

"You did it!" Mouse, the Fade bound Apprentice, celebrated, returning to his human form. "You actually did it! When you came, I hoped that maybe you might be able to… but I never really thought any of you were worthy."

"Sounds like your help was unusual," said Tristan, crossing his arms.

"You made me believe in you," Mouse told him. "You're a true mage, one of the few. The others; they never had a chance. The Templars set them up to fail, like they tried with you. I regret my part in it, but you have shown me that there is hope. You can be so much more than you know."

Tristan sighed. "I understand necessity. What now?"

"You defeated a demon, you completed your test. With time, you will become a master enchanter with no equal. And maybe there's hope in that for someone as small and as… forgotten as me. If you want to help. There may be a way for me to leave here, to get a foothold outside. You just need to want to let me in."

Tristan's eyes widened. It finally clicked. Mouse was no apprentice… in fact, he was wearing red Senior Enchanter's robes. How did Tristan not notice before…? Of course, it was the Fade. And his words… _You can be so much more than you know_… _you will become a master enchanter with no equal_… "I'm starting to think the other demon wasn't my test."

"What?" Mouse sputtered. "What are you….? Of course it was! What else is here that could harm an apprentice of your potential?" Tristan glared at him. The indignant expression vanished and a small smirk grew on the spirit's face. "You are a smart one." Mouse's voice changed, getting deeper and gaining a second underlying tone, sounding as if two entities were speaking at the same time. "Simple killing is a warrior's job. The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust… _Pride_…" Tristan grimaced as Mouse's body glowed white and extended upward. When the glow vanished, a hulking beast with twisted horns and seven spider-like eyes had taken the place of the mousey human. This was the true form of a Pride demon, just as Tristan suspected. "Keep your wits about you, mage," it said as it vanished. "True tests… _never _end."

"Are you alright?" came a voice as Tristan roused from his slumber. "Say something, please…"

"A demon," Tristan growled, his hand crackling with lightning. "DIE!"

"It's me, Jowan!" came the voice again as Tristan's vision cleared. "Calm down! Just… try to relax." Tristan sighed, the electricity dissipating. "I'm glad you're all right. They carried you in this morning. I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night." Jowan was Tristan's oldest friend, one of a sparse number. Being as gifted with magic had its downsides. "I've heard about apprentices who never come back from Harrowings. Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?"

"It was… harrowing…" Tristan grunted, as he sat up.

"Is that why they don't tell us what it's about? I know I'm not supposed to know… but we're friends. Just a little hint, and I'll stop asking, I promise!"

"I had to enter the Fade," Tristan told him.

"Really? That's it?"

"And if a demon possesses you, they kill you," Tristan finished.

"That… makes sense. They want to see if you can resist a demon and stop yourself from becoming an abomination." Jowan spent the next few minutes fretting about how he had yet to be called for his Harrowing before telling Tristan that First Enchanter Irving had requested his presence.

Tristan made his way through the library, chuckling as a nervous apprentice lost control of the campfire in front of him, headed for the stairs to the second floor. In the Senior Mage quarters, he spoke briefly with Cullen, one of the few Templars that Tristan had any respect for, before heading to Irving's office.

An angry and all too familiar voice echoed in the hall as he approached. "…. Many have already gone to Ostagar—Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages! We've committed enough of our own to the war effort—"

"Your own?" came an older voice, chuckling with grim amusement. "Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir? Or are you afraid to let the mages out from under Chantry supervision, where they can actually use their Maker-given powers?"

Tristan came to the doorway as Knight-Commander Greagoir began to retort.

"Gentlemen, please," a new voice interrupted. It came from a tall, black-haired human wearing a set of fine armor with a longsword on his back and a dagger at his hip. "Irving, someone is here to see you."

Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving turned to see the young elf. The newcomer examined him. He was tall for an elf, likely as tall as Irving, his dark brown hair cut short and styled casually. The blue and purple robes hid most of his frame, but he was doubtlessly muscled wirily. "You called for me?" he asked of Irving.

"Ah, if it isn't our new brother in the Circle. Come, child," Irving beckoned his star pupil into the room.

"This is…?" the new man asked as he came even with Irving.

"Yes, this is he," Irving said proudly.

"Well, Irving, you're obviously busy," Greagoir grumbled. "We will discuss this later."

"Of course," Irving said dismissively. "Well then…. Where was I? Oh, yes. This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens."

"Pleased to meet you," Tristan told him, bowing slightly.

"You've heard about the war brewing to the south, I expect? Duncan is recruiting mages to join the king's army at Ostagar."

"Who are we fighting?" Tristan asked

"The darkspawn threat grows in the south," Duncan told him. "We need all the help we can get."

"What do you mean?"

"The power you mages wield is an asset to any army. Your spells are very effective against large groups of mindless darkspawn. I fear if we don't drive them back, we may see another Blight."

"Duncan, you worry the poor lad with talk of Blights and darkspawn," Irving chided the Warden. "This is a happy day for him."

"We live in troubled times, my friend," Duncan told him grimly.

"We should seize moments of levity, especially in troubled times. The Harrowing is behind you. Your phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are officially a mage within the Circle of Magi."

"My leash, you mean," Tristan said bitterly.

"Now, child, it's not that bad."

"I'm sorry, what is this phylactery?" Duncan asked.

"Blood is taken from all apprentices when they first come to the tower and is preserved in special vials," Irving explained.

"So they can be hunted if they turn apostate," Duncan looked disapproving.

"We have few choices. The gift of magic is looked upon with suspicion and fear. We must prove we are strong enough to handle our power responsibly. You have done this," Irving praised Tristan. "I present you with your robes, your staff, and a ring bear the Circle's insignia. Wear them proudly, for you have earned them."

"Thank you," Tristan nodded.

"It goes without saying that you shall not discuss the Harrowing with those who have not undergone the rite," Irving raised his eyebrow in amusement as his star pupil gazed at him 'innocently.' Little escaped the First Enchanter's notice in the tower. And besides, he knew the friendship he shared with Jowan. "Now then… take your time to rest, or study in the library. The day is yours."

"Can I leave the tower?" Tristan asked, but wasn't surprised at Irving's answer.

"Not yet. Remember, the tower's walls protect us as much as they protect others from us."

"I will return to my quarters," Duncan told the pair.

"Would you be so kind as to escort Duncan back to his room, Tristan?" Irving asked.

"It would be my pleasure."

"The guest quarters are on the east side of this floor, close to the library. Now, if you'll both excuse me, I have matters to discuss with Greagoir."

Tristan nodded and walked back towards the door, Duncan trailing after him.

"Thank you for walking with me. I am glad for the company," Duncan told Tristan as they walked.

"Of course. If you don't mind me asking, why were Irving and Greagoir arguing about the war?" Tristan asked.

"It is not my place to comment, but Greagoir serves the Chantry, and the relationship between the Chantry and mages has always been strained. You've realized by now that the Chantry merely tolerates magic? They watch only because they feel they must."

"I don't see why the Chantry and mages can't get along," Tristan sighed.

"The Chantry believes that a mage should fear his power. It was the pride of mages, they say, that brought the darkspawn upon us in the first place. Any mages who join the king's army can unleash their full power on the darkspawn. In fact, I'm counting on it. Greagoir may be afraid of what will happen. What if the mages decide they no longer want to be governed by the Chantry?"

"It'd be something at least…" Tristan muttered. He had no issue with most of what the Chantry taught, except what pertained to mages. He himself was blessed with a naturally deep mana pool, deeper than many more experienced mages, yet he felt no desire for more. He sought knowledge, true, but what he wished to know seemed harmless enough. But when he questioned a priest as to why verses speaking of the elven warrior Shartan had been stricken from the 'Official' Chant, the woman almost had a heart attack. "Do you know why Irving had wanted to see me, besides my robes and such?"

"I can't imagine what you mean," Duncan chuckled.

Tristan laughed as well. "Come come, Duncan we both know Irving is as sly as an old fox. There's rarely not a second or even third reason for him to do something. This wasn't his most clever ploy though. Parading me around in front of one of the kings recruiters when he just so happened to be arguing with the Knight-Commander about the war. Then heaping on the praise with that damnable glint in his eye. If I know Irving, he wants me to be one of the mages sent to Ostagar. Am I right?"

"Irving was correct. You are as clever as they come, young Surana. Indeed. We shall see what comes of it," Duncan smiled as they came to his quarters. "Thank you for escorting me."

Tristan nodded and bowed slightly as he turned to head to his own room. He was still weary from his ordeal the night before. His mind was as sharp as ever but his body was protesting and a nap would be nice.

But it seemed resting was not in the cards for him that day. Jowan had found him again. "I'm glad I caught up with you."

"How do I find myself in these situations?" Tristan groaned as he slaughtered spider after spider, using his staff as a bludgeon even as he cast spells.

Jowan had revealed why he had been so nervous. He had led Tristan to the Chapel, making the elf worried Jowan had been brainwashed by Kelli, the tower's resident head case. The last thing this place needed was two mages gibbering about their 'curse.'

But in truth, Jowan had wanted to introduce Tristan to his lover. Jowan mentioned he had met a girl a number of months back, though Tristan had begun to doubt her existence. Not only did she exist, but she was a Chantry Initiate named Lily. _And people say_ I _like to play with fire_ Tristan thought. The news got even more unnerving as Jowan explained that the Knight-Commander authorized the Rite of Tranquility on him. There was a rumor going around that Jowan was a blood mage and the Templars feared what Jowan would be able to do if he were made a full mage. Jowan wanted to escape with Lily but to do that, they needed to destroy his phylactery. Tristan agreed to help, despite his misgivings, and went about obtaining a Rod of Fire from the Circle stockroom.

Owain, the Tranquil in charge of the stock, had given Tristan a form to be Signed by a senior Enchanter. The elf had found Leora, the newest Senior Enchanter, who agreed to sign the form in exchange for clearing the larger stockroom of a spider infestation.

Which is what brought Tristan to where he was now.

When all the spiders lay dead, Tristan wiped the blood from his new robes and made his way out.

"I have the Rod," Tristan said as he reunited with Jowan and Lily.

"That was quick!" said Jowan.

"To the repository, then," Lily gushed. "Freedom awaits."

Turns out the rumors… weren't rumors.

"NO! I WON'T LET YOU TOUCH HER!" Jowan drew a knife and sliced open his palm. Immediately, his aura turned red and he waved his hands. A tremendous wave of energy erupted from his palms, striking Irving, Greagoir, and the numerous Templars with them. Tristan caught a bit of the backwash and it tossed him a few feet and knocked the wind out of him.

The newly Harrowed mage's mind went blank. The only thought floating around was _He lied to me…_

Tristan peeled himself from the ground, groaning as his weary and sore body screamed in protest. He walked swiftly over to Irving's side, channeling his mana into one of the few healing spells he could use with any precision. Irving stirred after a long moment, lifting his head from the ground. "Are you alright?" Irving asked as soon as he recognized Tristan. "Where's Greagoir?"

The aged Templar rose with a cough. "I knew it. Blood magic… but to overcome so many… I never thought him capable of such power."

"He lied to me," Tristan muttered, getting angrier by the second.

"None of us expected this," Irving assured his pupil as the young man helped him to his feet. "Are you alright, Greagoir?"

"As good as can be expected given the circumstances! If you had let me act sooner, this would not have happened! Where is the girl?" When Jowan's blood magic had been revealed, the Initiate had been all too eager to backpedal from him.

"I am here, ser," Lily spoke quietly.

"You helped a blood mage!" Greagoir snapped. "Look at all he's hurt!"

"You forced Jowan's hand!" Tristan growled.

"Knight-Commander, I… I was wrong. I was accomplice to a… a blood mage," Lily stammered.

"Ungrateful bitch," Tristan muttered. Lily looked scandalized but before she could protest Tristan went on. "He was willing to risk his own execution just to be with you and as soon as things started going pear shaped, you scrambled away from him faster than a Templar can say lyrium. But what else could I expect of a Chantry boot licker?"

"Get her out of my sight!" Greagoir snapped. "And you," the Knight-Commander's ire turned towards the mage. "You know why the repository exists. Some artifacts, some magicks, are locked away for a reason!"

"Did you take anything important from the repository?" Irving asked.

"This staff," Tristan handed it to Irving. "I needed a replacement after one of those damn sentinels snapped my other one. Take it, I don't need it now."

"Hmph, some honesty at least," Greagoir muttered. "But your antics have made a mockery of this Circle! Ah… what are we to do with you?"

"I had no idea he was a blood mage," Tristan defended himself, his anger rising again.

"And you think this excuses you? You helped a blood mage escape. All our prevention measures for naught - because of you!"

"Knight-Commander, if I may," Duncan came forward much to Tristan's surprise. "I am not only looking for mages to join the king's army. I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens. Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I would like him to join the Warden ranks."

"Duncan," Irving sighed. "This mage has assisted a maleficar, and shown a lack of regard for the Circle's rules."

"He is a danger," Greagoir agreed. "To us all."

"It is a rare person who risks all for a friend in need," Duncan insisted. "I stand by my decision. I will recruit this mage."

"No!" Greagoir snapped. "I refuse to let this go unpunished!"

Tristan smirked, though there was no humor in the expression. "If the Grey Wardens will have me, I will gladly go."

"Greagoir, mages are needed," Duncan told the irate Templar. "This mage is needed. Worse things plague this world than blood mages. You know that. I will take this mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for his actions."

"A blood mage escapes and his accomplice is not only unpunished, but is rewards by becoming a Grey Warden," Greagoir growled. "Are our rules nothing? Have we lost all authority over our mages? This does not bode well, Irving."

"Enough," Irving grunted. "We have no more say in this matter."

"So I am to be a Grey Warden?" Tristan smirked at his old mentor.

"Yes. Be proud, Tristan. You are luckier than you know."

Tristan nodded. "Perhaps the Grey Wardens will appreciate my talent more."

"You will have ample opportunity to hone your skills, I assure you," Duncan told him. "Come, your new life awaits."

Tristan followed the Warden to the Entrance hall. "So, you're finally getting out of here, Surana?" asked a voice.

Tristan turned to see a young woman in yellow mage robes standing just to the left of the heavy security doors. Her black hair was brushed behind her shoulders and her bright purple eyes were alight with amusement. "Yep, and you're stuck here, Xolana."

Xolana snickered as she pushed herself off the wall and walked over to her childhood friend. "Well, don't go getting eaten by darkspawn, Surana. Last thing I need to here is Greagoir strutting around telling everyone he was right."

"Oh, Maker forbid I make your life harder," Tristan chuckled.

Xolana laughed. "Take care of yourself, Surana," she said, hugging him briefly.

"You too, Amell."


	3. Child of Aeducan

Chapter 3 Child of Aeducan

AN: This chapter takes place about a week after Chapter 1

Serena Aeducan, second child and only daughter of King Endrin, stood before her bedroom mirror to make sure her armor was on correctly. A knock came from behind her. She turned to see her second, Gorim Saelac, leaning against the opening in the divider of her room. "Greetings, my lady. You are dressed and ready. Excellent. I couldn't find the armor's matching dagger, but I scrounged up a rather fancy longsword. Do you wish to wear your shield to the noble's feast?"

"Yes," Serena told him, taking the sword and belting it to her waist. "Let them see me as a warrior."

Gorim chuckled. "As opposed to the Paragon of Beauty?"

Serena turned to him with a wicked smile. "Close the door. I'll show you a Paragon of Beauty."

"Ha! Don't you remember how this game goes?" Gorim asked. "I get undressed, then one of your brothers or cousins appears and thrashes me. I'll take my chances somewhere outside the palace if you don't mind. Perhaps after the feast? Well… thoughts for later I suppose."

_Later… right…_ Serena thought. _As though you aren't thinking of it right now. Then again, who am I to criticize?_

"Moving on to the business at hand. The king expects you to make an appearance at the feast, but there's no rush. The noble family heads will no doubt spend hours boring your father with petitions and petty grievances."

"What sort of grievances?"

"The usual," Gorim told her, his tone bored and sarcastic. "'This lord had my cousin killed.' 'This lord seduced my wife.' 'This lord did the exact thing I'd planned to do to him, but he did it first.'" Serena chuckled at her second's antics. "They pose and bluster and each pretends he is the honorable man in a den of thieves and assassins. Bah… the rest is worth seeing though. As part of the celebrations, permits have been auctioned off to members of the Merchant Caste who wished to sell wares in the Diamond Quarter. Lord Harrowmont has also opened up the Provings for young warriors to test their mettle before tomorrow's battle. Rumor has it that Harrowmont hopes you'll be swept off your feet if a well-placed young noblemen wins the Provings in your honor."

"Should I tell him I already have all the man I need?" Serena flirted.

"Why not?" Gorim shrugged with a grin. "I'll just wear a sign that says, 'Assassinate me before Lady Aeducan marries beneath her.' Better yet, let's just enjoy the time we have before the feast."

"The Proving sounds appealing. Let's go have a look."

"With you as always, my lady. The day is ours before the feast."

The princess and her second made their way towards the main hall of the Royal Palace. As they neared Serena's brother Bhelen's room, the door opened. "Prince Bhelen?" a red haired woman poked her head out the door. When her eyes found Serena, she paled almost alarmingly. "Oh… I… I am sorry my lady…" she retreated into the room.

Serena turned with a quizzical expression to Gorim, who shrugged and followed as Serena entered her brother's room. The young woman stood near Bhelen's bed, almost shaking with fear as Serena approached. "I… I'm sorry. I thought you were Prince Bhelen coming down the hall. I… forgive me."

"Who are you?" Serena asked gently.

"She's… er… it seems she's one of your brother Bhelen's newest… um, companions," Gorim told her, embarrassment marring his tone. "Prince Bhelen is attending the feast being held in Lady Aeducan's honor."

"Yes, of… of course," the woman mumbled, diligently avoiding looking Serena in the face. "It was presumptuous of me to think he would return to… I am sorry. I will show myself out, with your leave my lady…"

"There's no need for that," Serena told her. "I will let Bhelen know you are awaiting his return."

"I… thank you my lady," the mistress bowed low. Serena nodded and took her leave. Back in the hall, she turned back to Gorim.

"My lady?" he asked as they continued on.

Serena sighed. "Must you always be so formal?" she asked.

"You never know who might be listening, my lady. It's safer this way."

"Well, tell me about your family, Gorim."

"Not much that you don't already know," Gorim admitted. "My father's father was a great hero of the Deep Roads excursions and raised the family to the top of the Warrior Caste. He was even nominated to join the Assembly and found a noble house, but the honor was in the nomination; he wasn't afforded a single vote. My father served yours for many years, and now I serve you."

"Are you excited about the battle tomorrow?"

"Yes. I yearn to face the darkspawn and prove my worth as your second."

"We'll be spectacular," Serena grinned, clapping Gorim on the shoulder.

"May the Stone support us and the ancestors look down with pride."

The pair shoved the great doors of the palace open and strode out into the Diamond Quarter. "Please, Master Vollney," a voice begged. A middle aged man wearing the robes of a scholar cowered before a broad chested warrior with a long black beard. Serena recognized Scholar Gertek and Bruntin Vollney. "My work is accredited by the shaper!"

"These books are lies written by the enemies of House Vollney!" Bruntin growled.

"I write only what I find in the ancient records!" Gertek spotted Serena as she and Gorim approached. "Lady Aeducan!" he implored. "You can vouch for my work, can't you? Your father loved my 'History of Aeducan: Paragon, King, Peacemaker!'"

"Ah, I greatly enjoyed that book as well," Serena told him with a warm smile.

"This… worm has written a book that slanders my house!" Bruntin exclaimed.

"What does it say?" Serena asked politely. She had never much liked Bruntin. He was always a bit of a blowhard.

"It doesn't matter! It's all lies!"

Serena sighed. "Tell me what it says, scholar."

"My work tells the stories of all those raised to Paragon in the last five hundred years. When the Assembly names a Paragon, that man or woman is then, by definition, everything one can aspire to be in the world. They form their own noble houses and are revered as living ancestors. But Paragons start off as men."

"Vollney was more than a man!" Bruntin insisted angrily.

"What was Aeducan like before he was a Paragon?" Serena asked.

"Aeducan was much loved, but he was still a man," Gertek told her fairly. "He was plagued by melancholy, and his fervor regarding Orzammar's safety bordered on obsession. When Aeducan was proposed as a Paragon, only one lord in the Assembly objected. The others savagely hacked him to death. Aeducan's motion passed without a single dissenting vote."

"Unlike Vollney!" Bruntin snapped. "Is that what you mean, old man?"

"Vollney became a Paragon by the narrowest margin in history-one vote. A vote mired in rumors of intimidation, intrigue, and outright bribery. The record of that vote are kept in the Shaperate and are a matter of fact," Gertek turned to Bruntin. "Not liking history doesn't make it any less true!"

"The scholar is right," Serena told Bruntin.

"You're taking his side?" Bruntin demanded. "What if he published a book like this about your Paragon Aeducan?"

"The truth is more important than your pride," Serena snapped, finally losing her patience.

"You would not say so if it was your house, but I shall respect your wishes. For now," _Real subtle_ Serena thought. "Excuse me your Highness."

Gorim glared after Bruntin. "That fool has no idea how weak his house is or how low he sits in it. Shall I have him killed my lady?"

"What do you think, scholar?" Serena asked. Gertek seemed surprised he was asked his opinion.

"Well…" he said carefully. "Historically, it has been prudent to eliminate a small threat before it becomes larger…"

"Hear that, Gorim?" Serena asked. "Do the prudent thing."

"How do you want it done?" Gorim prompted.

"Quietly. An accident, preferably."

"Understood," Gorim moved to give the orders.

"You've shown yourself more daring and aggressive today than most believed of you," Gertek praised. "Someday, I hope to write of the great exploits you are sure to perform."

"Word has been sent," Gorim announced as he returned. "He won't live past the hour."

"You've shown House Aeducan a friend to research, history, and the glory of our people," Gertek went on.

"You'll remember this when you write of me," Serena chuckled.

"Of course. Heroism and pity for the small man have always been hallmarks of House Aeducan. Now I must try to make sense of these notes. Good day, your Highness, and thank you."

Serena nodded and made her way past the scholar. After examining numerous goods, Serena ran into the one person she had dreaded seeing that day. Trian, her elder brother was standing in the middle of the Diamond Quarter.

"Atrast vala, big sister!" Bhelen greeted her. "How surprising to run into you out amongst the common folk."

"Especially since duty requires that you attend our king father at the feast today," Trian growled. "Have you so little respect for him to disregard his wishes on a day set aside for you?"

Gorim moved to defend Serena. "Lord Harrowmont told me we wouldn't be needed for hours at least-"

"Silence!" Trian snapped. "If I want the opinion of my sibling's second, I will ask for it."

"Yes, your Highness…" Gorim muttered.

"Don't speak to Gorim like that," Serena bristled.

"I will speak to lower houses and castes as they should be spoken to. Now do as I say."

"Bhelen, you want to jump in here?" Serena asked her younger sibling.

"You're on your own. I've been dealing with him all afternoon," Bhelen muttered.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean, little brother?" Trian growled.

"Nothing, Trian. I've been having a great time. The speech you gave the legless boy about hard work and making something of himself was fantastic," Bhelen said sarcastically.

"As heir to the throne, it is my duty to impart wisdom and judgment upon those who need it," Trian told him. "Now then, you," he barked at Serena. "Get to the feast."

"It's cute how you think you can order me around," Serena sneered.

"I'd advise you to watch that tongue, dear sibling," Trian growled as he walked past. "Father will not live forever. Come, Bhelen!"

Bhelen followed his eldest sibling, shooting Serena an apologetic look. "That was fun. Nothing like being talked down to by the next king," Gorim muttered, glowering after Trian.

"He means well," Serena sighed. Until a few years ago, Serena and Trian had gotten on well. But when Serena began making a name for herself, Trian had gotten colder and colder.

"You always defend him. I wish I had your understanding."

Serena nodded sadly and continued on her way, Gorim just behind her. The two approached a weapon's merchant. "Greetings, My Lady Aeducan," he said with a small bow. "I am… so honored to have you visit my booth I have a… proposition, but I dared not approach."

"Yet you dare now?" Gorim questioned.

"It's alright," Serena assured him. "I'll hear him out."

"Very well, then. Speak," Gorim ordered gruffly.

"Um yes, just so… here's the thing. What I mean to say is…" the merchant didn't seem to know how to begin. One poorly chosen word could mean a mortal offence.

"It's all right," Serena smiled.

"Sorry. So nervous… I had a dagger made. For you. As a gift for your first command. I, uh, sent a messenger to deliver the dagger to you. Prince Trian had him thrown out. I don't know what offense he caused, but I had him beaten severely."

"Let me see this dagger,"

"Here… here it is, your Highness," the merchant handed Serena a long leaf bladed dagger in a sheath. Serena drew it, admiring the craftsmanship and the sparks of lightning that arched around the blade.

"That's an amazing piece, merchant," Gorim praised as Serena passed it to him to admire.

"You do me much honor, ser. The blade has been crafted over a period of two years by masters of every art. I wish to bless the Lady's first command, and hope that someday, when she rules, she will wear it."

"Trian is heir," Gorim informed him, more gently than before as he returned the blade to Serena. "He will rule when King Endrin returns to the Stone."

"If the Assembly wills it," the merchant said respectfully. "Forgive me ser, but whispers say the second child of Endrin will be chosen."

"Whispers indeed," Gorim agreed. "It's a princely gift. If Trian recognizes it, though, it may send the wrong message. Or the right one, depending on your view."

"Damn what Trian thinks. I'll take it," Serena said a bit bitterly as she tied the scabbard to her belt opposite her sword and resheathed the dagger.

"Thank you!" the merchant bowed low. "You bring me uncountable honor."

"What he means is that you'll being uncountable gold to him if you wear that piece in public," Gorim chuckled.

Serena joined him as the merchant flushed. With a nod to the now red-faced merchant, Serena took her leave.

"My lady," a young man bowed slightly as she approached the doors leading to the Commons. "Are you headed to the Proving Arena?"

"Aye. I intend to watch the Provings."

"We have been charged with the task of escorting you to the grounds."

Gorim slapped his forehead with a chagrined look. "I clean forgot about that. Forgive me, I should have informed you sooner. The king decided you are not to travel through the commons unguarded."

"What? Why?" Serena asked, alarmed.

"I did mention the merchants that won permits to show their goods in the Diamond Quarter? There were only so many permits auctioned off and quite a few were turned away. Your father fears you will be harassed on the way to the Proving."

"This is silly," Serena groaned. "But I will comply." _Anything to put Father's mind at ease._

"Will we be leaving then?" the escort asked.

"Yes."

"We are at your command."

Serena, Gorim and three escorts marched through the Orzammar Commons. As they neared the intersection that led to the Proving Arena, a dwarf in grey studded leather armor bumped into Serena. "Oh, pardon me… My Lady Aeducan?" the dwarf seemed a little alarmed at who had collided with.

"Mind where you step, Brand!" Gorim snapped, eyeing the tattoo on the man's cheek.

"Wait!" Serena barked. "I know this man. He's a Warden. Isn't that right, Garik Brosca."

"You've heard of me? I am honored, My Lady," Garik bowed extravagantly.

"So you're the one who disrupted the Proving last week?" Serena asked. Garik nodded, looking a mite embarrassed. "Good for you." The new Warden looked up in surprise. "Those old nug chasers need their beards ruffled now and again."

"As you say, My Lady," Garik chuckled. "I won't take a moment more of your time. Good day." Serena nodded and continued on her way. "Oh, one last thing, Lady Aeducan." Serena turned back and caught a coin purse. Her eyes widened as she felt her side. "Old habits die hard."

Serena chuckled. "Well, I suppose even a princess needs to be brought down a peg on occasion."

Serena grinned to herself as she entered the throne room, the Proving ceremonial helm tucked under her arm. Having decided to enter the Proving herself, she had won the whole thing, defeating every warrior of note, including Frandlin Ivo and Ser Blackstone, her old teacher. The dagger had come in handy during the fight with Blackstone in particular. He'd managed to get her sword from her and went for a finishing strike when Serena drew the new blade and slashed it across Ser Blackstone's chest, giving her the victory.

"Look!" Gorim pointed to a tall human with a Greatsword across his back. "The Grey Wardens are here! Tomorrow's raid must be more than a standard mission." Serena, ever curious and appreciative of living legends, made her way over to the Warden.

"Greetings, My Lady Aeducan," said the Warden, bowing. "It is an honor to meet you at last."

"The honor is mine, Warden," Serena inclined her head.

"I've had the opportunity to recently meet with your father. He speaks highly of you. He says you may be the most skilled warrior in all of House Aeducan."

"My father exaggerates," Serena blushed slightly.

The Warden chuckled. "Your humility aside, I have no doubt you will be a fighter of great renown. We need more Grey Wardens like you and quickly. Even as the darkspawn weaken here in Orzammar, they are stirring on the surface. A Blight has begun. Soon the fight must go beyond the Deep Roads, before the darkspawn threaten the entire world."

"Are there many of my people in the Grey Wardens? Well, besides Brosca, of course."

"Many dwarves have made names for themselves over the centuries in our order. But, these days, there are fewer dwarves and even fewer dwarven Grey Wardens. A pity, since dwarven warriors have the most experience fighting darkspawn."

"What does joining entail?" Serena asked.

The Warden's eyes seemed to sadden. "Being a Grey Warden means abandoning all ties to your old life. It means dedicating yourself to destroying the darkspawn."

"I am an Aeducan. Orzammar needs me here," Serena told him with a touch of regret.

"Then it's a good thing you have other paths before you. Some are not so lucky. I wish you luck in the Deep Roads tomorrow. Show the darkspawn the might of your people." Serena bowed and she joined Gorim to continue on.

The pair approached the throne where an elderly dwarf with white hair and braided beard was holding court with a pair of deshyrs. "Denial of the traditions of our people does not qualify as a political technicality!" King Endrin barked. "There is more to life than monetary gains, my lords Bemot and Meino. The Assembly of Kal Sharok will respect the rule of Orzammar, or they will rot and die alone, surrounded by enemies.

"Yes my king," Lord Meino bowed.

"But look, we have company to spare us further wrangling. Atrast vala, my sweet daughter. How fine you look in your grandmother's armor." Serena kneeled before her father, placing her helm in the ground. "I hear you were declared champion of the Provings!" Endrin chuckled fondly. "I suppose you were never one to sit by when something exciting was going on. Are you ready to be presented to the heads of the noble houses?"

"Is this all really necessary?" Serena asked a bit nervously.

"These rituals have their place. It behooves you to get to know the nobles and let them know you. Lords, ladies!" he called out. Grant me a moment of your time." The numerous deshyrs turned to their king. I would like to present to you my second eldest child, Serena. Blessed by the Stone and born of the blood that ran in the veins of the Paragon Aeducan. Who would pose a question to the prospective commander? Who wishes to know the prospect better? No? Very well, then, the ritual is complete. I give you Orzammar's next commander!" the deshyrs cheered, raising mugs of ale and clapping. "Tomorrow, our newest commander will lead part of a mission to strike a great blow to the darkspawn. Not only does this recover access to some of our most important mines but it also allows out honored guest Conrí, Lieutenant of Ferelden's Grey Wardens, to strike far into the Deep Roads."

"Thank you King Endrin," Conrí bowed his head. "While the darkspawn seem to withdraw, it is only because they are massing on the surface. This could mean a blight, and my men and I will discover the truth."

"We are honored to have you with us, my friend," Endrin told the young human. "Now, feast, drink and celebrate, for the morning brings battle!" Another cheer echoed in the throne room. "As for you, my new commander, find your brother Trian and send him to me."

"Of course, Father," Serena bowed.

"Walk well, Commander," Endrin smiled fondly as he bowed in return.

Serena panted slightly as she, along with Gorim, Frandlin Ivo and the unnamed scout marched through the old Aeducan thaig. Bhelen's words the night before still troubled her. Could Trian truly be moving against her? The evidence was damning. She had found an Aeducan signet ring on the body of a mercenary they had run into while searching for the shield of the Paragon Aeducan. Said shield now rested on her back and she was now on her way back to the rendezvous point to deliver it.

Serena stopped to catch her breath. "If Trian were really scheming against us, this would be the perfect place for an ambush," Gorim muttered. "We've got the shield, and we're all alone out here."

"Keep your wits about you then," Serena advised.

"Of course."

"What's that you're muttering about?" the scout asked.

Serena sighed, deciding not to lie. "My brother Trian may try to ambush us."

"Fantastic. As if the darkspawn weren't enough to worry about."

"Just keep your eyes open," Gorim grumbled.

As they neared the rendezvous point, Serena began to smell blood. Not darkspawn blood. It had to be dwarven. She quickened her pace. What she found horrified her. An entire squad of men lay about the room, slaughtered to the last. Serena quickly approached the man at the center.

"By the Stone… It's Trian!" Gorim barked.

"It must have been a darkspawn attack," Ivo contemplated.

"This doesn't look like darkspawn," said the scout. "No bites, no scratches, no mutilation…"

"We need to warn my father," Serena announced, fighting back tears. For all their problems, Trian was still her brother.

"Someone's coming!" Gorim and the others fell back. Serena removed her helmet, drew her axe and stood in front of her brother's body, tears now pouring down her face. She might not have been able to save her brother, but she wouldn't let the darkspawn take him.

When she spotted Bhelen, her father and all their men enter the tunnel, she began to lower her shield. Endrin halted when she spotted his eldest son before shoving his men out of the way to kneel next to Trian. Serena stood aside, her shield arm falling to her side and axe went back into her belt. Her head bowed as more tears rolled freely down her cheeks.

"My daughter…" Endrin spoke in a hoarse voice. "Tell me this isn't what it looks like."

Serena turned to her father, horror written on her face. He thought…. "We just got here a moment ago."

"Just long enough to slay Trian!" Bhelen barked.

"My lady is innocent!" Gorim protested.

"Ser Gorim, your loyalty makes you a useless witness," said Pyral Harrowmont, one of Endrin's top advisers. "It falls to others to tell the story. You, scout, what happened here?"

"Trian and his men were here early. It seems they'd done battle with the darkspawn. Lady Aeducan came up to them, all friendly-like, but when we got close, she ordered us to attack!"

Serena was stunned into silence. Gorim, however, was not. "That's a lie!" he spat.

"Then we shall discover the truth," Harrowmont quieted the angry warrior. "Frandlin Ivo, you are a good and noble man. Did the scout speak the truth?"

"He… he did, my lord," Ivo spoke haltingly. "It was… terrible. Prince Trian didn't stand a chance. Afterward, my lady stripped his signet ring."

"You treacherous bastard!" Gorim roared.

"Silence, Gorim," Endrin barked. "Do you have anything to say, Serena?"

"How can you not see that this is a set up?" Serena balked.

"I want to believe that, I really do…"

"Bind her," Harrowmont told the soldiers traveling with them. "She will be judged before the Assembly. To Orzammar."

Serena sat in her cell, slumped against the far wall with her head in her hands. Her makeup had run from her tears, leaving streaks down her cheeks. How could her father believe that she killed her own brother?

A clanking of metal not far caused her to raise her head. As far as she knew, she was the only one down in these cells. "Only ten minutes, ser. I have orders, you understand."

"Of course," a familiar voice answered. "Give us some privacy, won't you?" Serena bolted up as Gorim came into view. "My lady… I… I would have come sooner had they allowed it. How are you?"

"I was worried for you," Serena whispered hoarsely.

"And I for you, my heart. I bring little but bad news though. Bhelen has taken Trian's place in the Assembly. He introduced a motion to condemn you immediately, and it easily passed. He… had fully half the Assembly ready to vote on something completely against tradition and justice. He must have been making deals and alliances for months if not years."

Serena gave a sad chuckle. "You have to respect Bhelen's ability to play the game."

"He's more clever than either of us ever thought," Gorim agreed with a slightly twisted smile. "Some of the lords, especially Harrowmont, are suspicious of Bhelen's instant rise to power. They are rallying, but far too slowly. The Assembly has already sentenced us both."

"What's going to happen to you?" Serena asked worriedly.

"My knighthood will be stripped, my name torn from the family records… but I will be allowed to attempt some sort of life on the surface. Lord Harrowmont moved for a similar exile for you, but Bhelen's supporters overwhelmed him. You're to be sealed in the deep roads to fight darkspawn until you are overwhelmed and killed."

Serena was quiet for a long moment. "What does my father say about this?"

"Lord Harrowmont says the king has taken ill. He couldn't bear losing two of his children at once," Gorim told her sadly. "Lord Harrowmont gave me access to see you so I could tell you this: Conrí and the Grey Wardens are still in the Deep Roads, in tunnels connected to those you are to be left in. If you survive long enough to find the Grey Wardens, you may be able to escape with Conrí."

"The Grey Wardens seemed good men," Serena agreed.

"There are worse ways for a warrior to live than fighting the darkspawn with such allies. If you can find them, I'm sure you can join them and escape the Deep Roads."

"Only darkspawn between me and freedom?" Serena asked, a glimmer of hope beginning to shine in her heart.

"Bhelen underestimated you. Much as we underestimated him," Gorim smiled sadly. "I begged to go with you and fight at your side, but Bhelen's pet nobles wouldn't hear of it."

"I wish you were going to be at my side as well," Serena told him.

"I'm going to try to go to Denerim, the human capital. If you make it out, find me," Gorim turned to leave but a familiar hand grabbed his.

"Wait, please," Serena begged quietly.

"We have no time, my heart," Gorim whispered.

"Just… hold me one last time."

"The guards won't keep quiet about something like that. Your family will know…"

"Who cares what people think now?" Serena asked.

Gorim sighed. "As you say, my dearest one," As best as he could with the cold iron bars between them, he embraced Serena for what would likely be the last time. Too soon for either, Gorim was forced break away. "I must go now. I will always love you, my lady."

Serena grimaced as her blade snapped over a Genlock's skull. "Fine dwarven make, eh, you old bastard?" she tossed aside the ruined sword Harrowmont had given her before sealing her in the Deep Roads. She'd been down here for hours, barely having time to rest since time was of the essence. She had to catch up to Conrí and the other Wardens.

She grabbed a twisted axe from the hand of the Genlock she had just killed and continued on. Not far into the tunnel, she heard the familiar echoes of battle. Quickening her pace, she exited one tunnel into one of the main Roads. The Wardens were surrounded by darkspawn, outnumbered ten to one.

And they were winning. Arrows flew from the two archers, each bolt finding it's mark in the chest of a darkspawn solider. Garik Brosca, the rogue from Dust Town stabbing the beasts with almost alarming efficiency, but it was their leader who truly surprised Serena.

She had thought the large sword he carried was just for show, but she was wrong. Conrí was using the blade with amazing dexterity. A single strike was rare for him. Most of the time, he would take the momentum of the first swing to propel himself into a second or even third, cutting down darkspawn all the while. One of the few single swings he took lopped the heads of three Genlocks simultaneously.

Once she snapped out of her shock, Serena charged in with a roar. She cleaved the spine of a Hurlock getting ready to split Garik's head open with its mace. The haze of battle soon took over and when it finally lifted, Serena saw Conrí pivot on the ball of his foot and shove the entire length of his blade through the gut of a Hurlock.

Serena was amazed still further. While she was panting like a Bronto, the humans seemed barely winded. "Lady Aeducan?" Conrí asked. "What are you doing here alone? Where are your troops?"

Serena panted for a moment before catching her breath. "I am Lady Aeducan no longer."

Conrí grimaced. "You have been made to walk the Deep Roads then."

"You mean you were exiled?" asked Ulrich. "What happened?"

"That's hardly our business," Conrí chided the man. "You don't have to answer that, my friend."

"I was betrayed by my brother," Serena grunted.

"Lord Trian?" Conrí asked.

"No, Bhelen. Trian is dead."

Conrí sighed. "The brutal intrigue of the dwarven court continues. Your father hinted as much. There's no reason to walk these Roads and die for something you didn't do. You've already proven yourself both resourceful and skilled. I would expect nothing less from an Aeducan. As Lieutenant of the Fereldan Grey, I would like to formally invite you to join our order."

"I would be honored."

"So we're taking a noble with us now?" Garik asked, nudging Serena jocularly. Serena shoved him playfully.

"We have one more stop to make before we meet King Cailan in the south," Conrí told them.

"Where?" Serena asked.

"Highever."


	4. Under the Branches of the Vhenadahl

Chapter 4 Under the Branches of the Vhenadahl

Denerim Alienage

Blair Tabris chewed her lip worriedly as one of Vaughn's men carried the unconscious lord from the Alienage.

"Oh, I really messed up this time," her cousin Shianni murmured. She had been the one to knock out Vaughn Kendells, the arl of Denerim's son, with a ceramic wine bottle.

"It'll be alright. He won't tell anyone an elven woman took him down," Soris assured her.

"I hope so," Shianni grimaced. "I should get cleaned up."

"Is everyone else alright?" Soris asked as he looked around.

"I think we're all just shaken," said a mousy elf woman Blair didn't know. "What was that about?"

Soris laughed nervously. "Looks like the arl's son started drinking too early. Um," he turned to Blair as a man joined them. "Well, let's not let this ruin the day. This is Valora, my betrothed," Soris gestured to the woman.

"Then this handsome man must be Nelaros," Blair smiled, adjusting one of the many braids in her ash-blonde hair. Nelaros returned the grin.

"I am a lucky man to be so warmly welcomed," he said.

"I'm sure the two of you have a lot to discuss," Soris and Valora walked a few feet away.

"Well, here we are," Nelaros cleared his throat nervously. "Are you nervous?"

"Sort of nauseated, actually," Blair told him with an apologetic grin.

"I thought I'd stay calm, but now we've met… let's just say… I'm not calm."

Blair cast her mind around for something to talk about. "How was the trip from Highever?" she asked finally.

"Uneventful, thankfully," Nelaros told her, relieved. "The trade caravan we accompanied had little of value; I think that kept bandits away."

"Come on, Cousin," Soris muttered. "We should let them get ready."

"We'll see you in a bit," Valora smiled. "Don't disappear on us," she added, laughter in her tone.

"Or we'll come find you," Nelaros gibed as well. The pair of newcomers walked off.

"Don't look now," Soris murmured to Blair. "But we have another problem."

"Is it Vaughn?" Blair asked, her former worry returning.

"Another human and an elf just walked in," Soris pointed towards the gates. A tall middle aged man stood near the Vhenadahl, looking around with some interest. His companion, an elf in yellow and blue robes, seemed to be extremely uncomfortable. "Could be some of Vaughn's or just random troublemakers."

"One human and an elf shouldn't cause much trouble," Blair assured him.

"I'm more worried about some of our boys. Wine is flowing and I don't think we want another incident."

Blair sighed and straightened her dress, wishing now more than ever she hadn't let her father convince her not wear her daggers under her clothes. "Alright. let's go talk to them."

"Let's do this quickly."

The cousins quickly made their way across the courtyard of the Alienage. "Good day," said the human as they approached. "I understand congratulations are in order for your impending wedding."

"Thank you," Blair said politely, taking the lead as she usually did. "But please go. I'd rather avoid any unpleasantness."

The human chuckled benignly. "What manner of unpleasantness might you be referring to?"

"The Alienage just isn't a good place for humans to be."

"I'm sorry, but I have no intention of leaving," the human said politely but firmly.

"Fine," Blair sighed. "Maybe we can compromise."

The human smiled. "She keeps her composure, even when facing down an unknown and armed human. A true gift, wouldn't you say, Valendrian?"

"I would say the world has far more use of those who know how to stay their blades," Valendrian, the Alienage hahren, or elder, approached the group. "It is good to see you again, my old friend. It has been far too long."

"I'm sorry," Blair murmured. "I had no idea…"

"I was hardly forthcoming, and for that I apologize," the human told her.

"May I present Duncan, head of the Grey Wardens in Fereldan," Valendrian gestured to the human.

"Well met, Duncan," said Blair, offering her hand.

"And you, dear girl," Duncan chuckled as he shook her hand.

"But my question remains unanswered. Why are you here, Duncan?"

"The worst has happened: a Blight has begun. King Cailan summons the Grey Wardens to Ostagar to fight the darkspawn horde alongside his armies."

"Yes…" Valendrian acknowledged hesitantly. "I had heard the news. Still, this is an awkward time. There is to be a wedding, two in fact."

"So I see. By all means, attend to your ceremonies. My concerns can wait, for now."

"Very well," Valendrian turned to Blair and Soris. "Children, treat Duncan as my honored guest. And for Maker's sake, take your places." The aged elf made his way towards the raised platform set aside for such occasions.

"Please do not interrupt further," Duncan insisted. "We shall speak more later."

Blair nodded and followed Valendrian, Soris not far behind.

"Ooh! Soris!" Valora gushed as the pair reached the top of the platform. "There you are. I was afraid you'd run off."

"No, I'm here," Soris chuckled. "With Nelaros's blushing bride in tow."

"You look radiant," Nelaros told a lightly blushing Blair.

"It looks like everyone's ready," Soris sighed nervously.

"Good luck, Soris," Blair nudged her cousin.

"You too, Blair. Maybe it won't be so bad after all."

Valendrian and Mother Boann began the ceremony while Blair tried focus on not hyperventilating. When she looked up, her eyes widened. Vaughn was back, with more men this time. "Milord… this is an unexpected surprise," Mother Boann commented warily.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mother, but I'm having a party and were dreadfully short of female guests," Vaughn laughed darkly.

"Milord, this is a wedding!" Mother Boann protested.

"Ha! If you want to dress up your pets and have tea parties, that's your business," Vaughn sneered. "But don't pretend this is a proper wedding. Now, we're here for a good time, aren't we boys?"

Two of Vaughn's toadies laughed. "Just a good time with the ladies, that's all."

"Let's take those two," Vaughn gestured towards a pair of bridesmaids. "The one in the tight dress, and… where's the bitch that bottled me?"

"Over here, Lord Vaughn!" one of the bastards grabbed Shianni by the arm.

"Let me go, you stuffed-shirt son of a-" Shianni squirmed.

"Oh, I'll enjoy taming her," Vaughn chuckled. "And see the pretty bride." The man's eyes had found Blair.

"Don't worry," Nelaros muttered. "I won't let them take you."

"I won't let them take Shianni," Blair growled, shocking Nelaros. For the first time, he saw anger in his bride's black eyes.

"Ah, yes… such a well-formed little thing," Vaughn purred.

"You villains!" Nelaros spat.

"That's quite enough. I'm sure we all want to avoid further… um, unpleasantness."

"Let them go!" Blair snapped. "You have no right!"

"Let me think… hmmm, no. Oh we're going to have some fun…"

The last thing Blair saw before the lights went out was the back of Lord Braden's hand.

Blair became aware of a rapidly muttering voice praying not far from her. A second, more irritable voice snapped at the first to be quiet. "Ugh," Blair groaned as she sat up.

"Thank the Maker you came to," Shianni smiled crookedly. "We were worried."

"All right…" Blair sneered. "That human dies."

"Glad you've still got some fight in you," Shianni chuckled.

"They locked us in here until that… Bastard is 'ready for us.'" Valora hissed.

"We'll kill the first human that opens the door," Blair told them.

"We're five unarmed women," one of Valora's bridesmaids groaned. "What makes you think we can kill anyone? Look, we'll… do what they want, go home and try to forget this ever happened."

"She's right," Valora muttered. "It'll be worse if we resist."

"It'll be worse if we don't!" Shianni snapped.

"Someone's coming!" the bridesmaid whimpered.

Blair tensed as she heard the lock on the door opening. Five armed men strode in. "Hello, wenches," the leader greeted in an oily voice. "We're your escort to Lord Vaughn's little party."

The praying bridesmaid stood up. "Stay away from me."

With a snort, the guard swung his sword, cutting the bridesmaid across the chest. Blair snarled as the woman's blood began to pool around her. "I suppose that's what happens when you try teaching whores some respect," the man turned and began giving orders to the other guards. "Now, you grab the little flower cowering in the corner. Horace and I'll take the homely bride and the drunk. You two, bind the last one. She's the scrapper." With a chuckle, the Captain left with the others.

"Don't worry," one guard chuckled as he and his partner moved towards Blair. "We'll be perfect gentlemen."

"Now you heard the Captain," the other told her firmly. "Be a good little wench or you'll end up like your friend, there."

"Try it," Blair snapped. "See what parts you lose first."

"Ha! Horace was right, she's a scrapper!" said the first guard.

"Um, hello?" came a familiar voice. Soris came into the room, a pair of daggers in sheathes in his hand and a sword at his hip.

"Oh, look at this. A little elfling with a stolen sword." As the pair of guards moved towards Soris, he tossed the pair of daggers between them. Blair caught and drew the blades, gripping them so the blades protruded from between her ring and middle finger.

"Oh, sod…" the second guard muttered as he saw murder in Blair's eyes.

Blair snarled to herself as she and Soris slipped through the palace. They came to the end of the hall just in time to see the Guard Captain cut down Nelaros just as he had the bridesmaid. "See? I told you there'd be more. Elves run in packs, like rodents."

"Should we keep the knife-eared bitch alive?" one of the guards asked.

"She killed our boys," the Captain sneered. "She dies."

"I'm going to enjoy this…" Blair growled, spinning her daggers.

"Stupid wench. We'll show you how men fight."

Blair snorted and threw both daggers into the throats of the Captain's cronies before leaping over the Captain himself. Before the Captain could turn, Blair snaked an arm around his neck, gripped his chin and jerked back harshly. The sound of vertebrae snapping was almost musical to Blair. She let the Captain's body drop before rushing over to Soris and Nelaros.

"I'm so sorry," Soris sobbed.

"He died to save me," Blair knelt next to her fallen betrothed, several emotions warring in her mind as she closed his eyes. It was true that she had no desire to marry yet, but Nelaros had still come to save her. She was free… but at the cost of a good man's life.

_I won't let this be for nothing, Nelaros. I swear it. Vaughn will pay for what he's done…_ She thought, taking the golden ring on the chain from around his neck.

After slipping the simple chain over her head, she dropped the ring under her dress.

"Let's make sure it wasn't in vain," Soris told her, conviction entering his normally timid voice.

Blair nodded and the pair continued on.

"My, my. What have we here?" Vaughn sneered as Blair and Soris entered his room. He, Braden and Jonaley had surrounded Shianni as she laid on the ground. Her dress was shredded from the waist down. Knowing this could only mean one thing, she almost didn't hear Jonaley's words through the hazy buzzing in her ears. "Quiet, you idiot!" Vaughn snapped at his friend. "They're covered in enough blood to fill a tub. What do you think that means?"

"It means your guards are dead… and you're next," Blair hissed like an angry viper.

"All right, let's not be too hasty here. Surely we can talk this over…"

"You really think you can talk your way out of this?"

Sobbing interrupted Vaughn. "Please," Shianni begged. "Just… get me out of here! I want to go home!"

"Think for a minute," Vaughn continued. "Kill me and you ruin more lives than just your own. By dawn, the city will run red with elven blood. Think about it. You know how this ends. Or we could talk this through now that you have my undivided attention."

"How dare you threaten us?" Blair snarled.

"Last chance. Kill me and destroy everything you care about, or hear me out and change your life for the better."

"But Blair, what if he's right?" Soris muttered. "They'll purge the Alienage again!"

"Some things cannot go unpunished," Blair hissed, appalled Soris would even consider leaving Shianni and the others with this bastard.

"I'll gut you myself!" Vaughn snapped, drawing his sword.

What happened next, Soris could barely follow. Blair, his normally sweet, even-tempered cousin had become a whirlwind of blades. She ducked under Vaughn's wild swing to punch-stab Jonaley in the chest rapidly. Before Jonaley could even buckle, Blair had ducked another swing, this one from Braden, before slashing her dagger across the noble's throat. When both of Vaughn's friends fell with various bloody noises, Blair pounced on the ringleader himself, crossing her blades at his throat.

"Wait… please…" Vaughn begged.

"I'm sure Shianni asked for mercy as well." Before Vaughn could retaliate, Blair jerked her blades, scissoring the bastard's neck. While the motion didn't sever Vaughn's head, it got close.

"He… he's dead," Soris panted. "Tell me we did the right thing, Blair."

"What's important is that Shianni's safe," Blair told him as she climbed off Vaughn's corpse.

"I… I'll check the back room for the others. Shianni needs you,"

Blair nodded as her cousin turned and walked quickly to the second door on the far side of the room. Blair knelt next to Shianni, pulling the traumatized redhead into her arms. "D-don't leave me alone…" Shianni sobbed. "Please… please, take me home…"

"Can you walk?" Blair asked, gently smoothing Shianni's tousled hair.

"I… I think so… You killed them, didn't you? You killed them all?"

"Like dogs, Cousin…"

"Good. Good…"

"Is… she going to be all right?" Valora asked from behind Blair.

"Would you be?" Blair shot back hollowly.

"Shianni's strong," Valora told her uncertainly. "She'll recover."

"We should go…" Soris muttered. "Soon. As in now. I'll take the rear guard. I can't wait to leave this place."

Blair, supporting Shianni, alongside Soris, Valora and the one remaining bridesmaid slipped into the Alienage.

"You have returned," Valendrian ran up to the group. "Has Shianni been hurt? Where is Tormey's daughter, Nola?"

"Nola didn't make it…" Valora cried. "She resisted and…"

"They killed her…" Shianni whispered.

"Nelaros, too," Soris told the elder. "The guards killed him."

"I see," Valendrian sighed. "Would the rest of you ladies please tale Shianni home? She needs rest." Valora and the bridesmaid nodded, both lending Shianni a shoulder to lean on. "Now tell me," Valendrian turned to Blair. "What happened?"

"Vaughn's dead," Blair told him flatly, gazing at the ring around her neck.

"Then the garrison could already be on their way," Duncan intoned. "You have little time."

"I'm not sure what we should do," Blair muttered.

"The guards are here!" a young man yelled, his voice nearing hysteria.

"Don't panic," Valendrian commanded. "Let's see what comes of this."

An elder guard, flanked by a small number of his men, strode into the Alienage a few minutes later. "I seek Valendrian, elder and administrator of the Alienage!"

"Here, Captain," Valendrian motioned. "I take it you have come in response to today's disruption?"

"Don't play ignorant with me, elder. You will not prevent justice from being done. The arl's son lies dead in a river of blood that runs through the entire palace. I need names, and I need them now!"

Blair sighed and mustered her courage. "It was my doing," she said, stepping forward.

"You expect me to believe one woman did all of that?" the Captain scoffed.

"We are not all so helpless, Captain," Valendrian said coolly.

"You save many by coming forward. I don't envy your fate, but I applaud your courage," the Captain looked at Blair with a rare thing in his eye. Respect. Blair nodded. He seemed a good man for a human. "This elf will wait in the dungeon until the arl returns. The rest of you, back to your houses!"

"Captain," Duncan intervened. "A word if you please."

"What is it, Grey Warden? The situation is well under control, as you can see."

"Be that as it may, I hereby invoke the Grey Warden's Right of Conscription. I remove this woman into my custody."

"You can do that?" Blair asked, astonished.

"Son of a tied down…" the Captain muttered. "Very well, Grey Warden; I cannot challenge your rights, but I'll ask one thing. Get this elf out of the city. Today."

"Agreed."

"Now I need to get my men on the streets before this news hits. Move out!" the Captain commanded.

"You're with me now," Duncan told Blair as the guards moved out of the Alienage. "Say your goodbyes, and see me when you're ready. We leave immediately."

"You don't have to do this. I'm safe, now," Blair told him.

"I did not do this for your benefit. I needed a Grey Warden and I found one. That conscripting you saved your life is only circumstance. You did what you had to do to accomplish your mission. We need people like you. Now quickly, say your goodbyes. Your life here is over."

Blair nodded, not exactly happy she had no choice but to leave. Duncan went over to the gates to wait for Blair.

"Well," Valendrian sighed. "I guess Duncan got his recruit after all."

"It was not by my choice," Blair insisted.

"No? Either way it's out of my hands now. If you'll excuse me, I must tend to our people. Goodbye, young one, and Maker keep you."

"Thank you," Soris smiled as Valendrian headed towards the Vhenadahl. "You really saved my hide back there."

"I did what was right," Blair told him.

"As you always do. Well, I'd like to follow your example. No more daydreaming. I'm settling down. Valora's a good woman and she has ideas on making life better for everyone here. Your father had the women take Shianni back to your place. Will you see her before you go?"

"Of course."

"Good luck, Cousin. You've been my hero since we were kids. It's just official now."

Blair hugged Soris with a gentle smile before following Valendrian's path. When she arrived at her house, she found her father, Cyrion, waiting outside. "If…" he sighed. "This is what the Maker has planned for you, then I guess it's for the best. Your mother would've been pleased."

"You're not?"

"I just wish there was another way. I dreamed of grandchildren, family gatherings, and… I'm sorry, this isn't helping. Take care, my dear girl," Cyrion whispered as he hugged his only daughter. "Be safe. And wise. And… well, you know… we'll all miss you." Blair's vision blurred with tears as her father kissed her on the brow. As she went into the house, she heard Cyrion give a sniff, fighting tears himself.

"There you are," Valora grinned when Blair came in. "Thank you. For me, for Soris, for everything."

"Be good to Soris," Blair told her.

"I will, I swear it," Valora gushed. "Shianni seems to have regained herself. I'll leave you two alone. Good luck and thank you again."

Blair rounded the corner in her house to see Shianni sitting on her bed. The redhead looked up with a frail smile. "You took all the responsibility for what happened. You're amazing, you know that?"

"How are you holding up?" Blair asked as she sat next to her shaken cousin.

"I'm… all right. As far as the others know, Vaughn just roughed me up a bit. I just don't want them treating me like some fragile doll," Shianni sighed, leaning against Blair's shoulder. "I love you, Cousin. Make us proud out there."

"I love you too, Shianni," Blair wrapped an arm around Shianni's shoulders.

"Maker watch over you."

"Are you ready to go?" Duncan asked as Blair returned.

"I am,"

"Good. Then we leave for the Brecilian Forest immediately. Here," Duncan handed Blair a package. "I had Tristan collect you some armor. It's simple but it should do until we reach the King's encampment."

"Why are we going into the forest?" Blair asked.

"To look for the Dalish."


	5. Wolves of the North

Chapter 5 Wolves of the North

Castle Cousland, Highever

"… I trust then that your men should be here soon," said Teyrn Bryce Cousland.

"They should begin arriving tonight and we can march tomorrow," said Arl Rendon Howe. "I apologize for the delay my lord… this is entirely my fault."

"No, no," Bryce argued. "The appearance of the darkspawn in the south has us all scrambling, doesn't it? I only received word from the king a few days ago myself. I shall send my eldest off with my men. You and I will ride tomorrow, just like the old days."

"True, though we both had less grey in our hair and we fought Orlesians, not… monsters."

Bryce chuckled. "At least the smell will be the same." A sound from the door drew the teyrn's attention. His daughter Erin, stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry, pup, I didn't see you there. Howe, you remember my daughter."

Erin was slender, yet solidly built, wearing a set of light steel chainmail. On her back were a pair of longswords, both angled to allow an easier draw. Her hair was ginger-ish red and restrained in a ponytail that fell just below her shoulders.

Had one not known her, the youngest Cousland's brilliant ice blue eyes would have unnerved them. It was now widely regarded as mere superstition but at one time those who were born with such eyes were regarded as warnings of a time of great strife in the near future. Wolf blooded, they were called.

"I see she's grown into a lovely young woman," Howe smiled. "It's good to see you again, my dear."

"And you, Arl Howe," Erin nodded.

"My son Thomas asked after you. Perhaps I should bring him along next time,"

"To what end?" Erin asked a mite sharply.

"Ha! 'To what end?' she says!" Howe crowed. "So glib too. She's just like her mother when she talks like that!"

"You see what I contend with, Howe?" Bryce asked with a proud if slightly exasperated chuckle. "You can't tell my fierce girl anything these days, Maker bless her heart."

"Hm, no doubt because you've trained her as a warrior."

"At any rate, pup, I called you here for a reason," Bryce told his child. "I am leaving you in charge of the castle while Fergus and I are away."

Erin felt a pang of disappointment. "I will do my best, Father," she said.

"Now that's what I like to hear," Bryce praised with a satisfied smile. He knew his daughter was worried her skills were being slighted and she wanted to see her twin, yet she didn't argue. "Only a token force is remaining and you must keep peace in the region. You know what they say about the mice while the cat is away, yes?"

Erin nodded with a smile.

"My lord!" came a voice from the main doors. A guard strode in quickly. "A Grey Warden has arrived and requests an audience with you!"

Bryce frowned. Ever since Duncan had shown up a number of months back and recruited his second son, he hadn't been expecting another visit. "Is it Duncan again?"

"No my lord," said the guard with a smile.

Bryce's eyes widened. "Is it…?" the Guard nodded. "Well, show him in man!"

"Right away, my lord," the man turned and trotted back to the doors, throwing them open. A moment later, a second man entered, his heavy plate armor shining in the late afternoon light. He was flanked by a pair of dwarves, one wearing a set of studded-leather armor with a pair of daggers at his waist, the other in a Dwarven set of heavy chain, an ax in a scabbard on her right hip and a round targe across her back.

Bryce smiled when I spotted the man in the middle. He approached and bowed, the two dwarves mimicking him. When the red haired man looked up again, it was with the same smile Bryce wore. "Hello, Father."

Before Bryce could speak, his daughter bolted forward and hugged her twin tightly. "Conrí, you're back!"

"It's good to see you, too, sister," Conrí laughed happily, embracing his sibling.

Conrí was built just like his father, tall yet stocky, his broad shoulders covered by a set of fine steel heavy plate. The claymore across his back was made of the same material and bore the emblem of Highever on the pommel.

"Pup, I didn't expect to see you again so soon," Bryce told him, approaching his son.

"I decided to stop in on my way to Ostagar, and Duncan told he to keep an eye out for more possible recruits," Conrí told him as he released his sister.

"You're not here for…?" Bryce looked wearily at Erin.

"No, of course not. Whether Duncan was leaning towards her or not, I intend to make him keep his promise. I will be the only Cousland drafted into the Wardens. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about testing Ser Gilmore"

Bryce's shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank the Maker…"

"Oh! I've been rude," Conrí turned towards the pair of dwarves. "Father, this is Serena Aeducan and Garik Brosca, both late of Orzammar. My newest recruits." The dwarves bowed respectfully, Garik perhaps a mite slower, not used to such formalities.

"Recruiting already, son?" Bryce asked. "You joined the Warden's barely six months ago."

"Much has happened in the south," Conrí told his father. "I have been promoted to a Warden Lieutenant during the skirmishes at Ostagar."

"I knew you would do me proud, Pup. Though you're hardly a pup anymore," Bryce added with a slightly sad chuckle.

Conrí smiled before turning his attention to the Arl Howe. "Lord Howe, it is good to see you again."

"And you as well, my lad," Howe grinned. "A bona fide Grey Warden, eh? Well done."

Conrí nodded with a humble smile. "How long are you and your Wardens staying, Conrí?" Bryce asked.

"Just for the night, I expect. I'm ahead of schedule and I've already sent the other Wardens south to meet with the king. I was hoping for a few rooms in the guest quarters."

"Nonsense," said Bryce firmly. "Your room is just as you left it. I will have the maids set up a few rooms for your recruits."

"Thank you, Father," Conrí bowed slightly.

"Come my son, we have much to catch up on and you probably have better word than I as to what is happening down south. In the mean time, Erin, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me."

"But…" Erin wanted to spend more time with her twin.

"I'll be here at least until Father leaves tomorrow," Conrí promised. "We will speak more tonight."

Erin nodded, smiling warmly at him. "Where is Fergus?" she asked of her father.

"Upstairs in his chambers, no doubt. Spending some last moments with his wife and my grandson," said Bryce with a warm smile. "Be a good lass and do as I've asked. We shall speak more soon."

Understanding the clear dismissal, Erin bowed once more before exiting the hall. She made her way, lost in thought, towards the family quarters. She had nearly reached the library, when a familiar voice caught her attention.

"There you are," said Ser Gilmore as he strode towards the young lady.

Ser Gilmore was a few years the twins' elder and had trained alongside the pair during their early teen years. His slightly ragged reddish-blonde hair fell just above his shoulders and his face was freshly shaven.

"Your mother told me the Teyrn had summoned you, so I didn't want to interrupt."

"Good thing, too," said Erin. "Considering Father's company."

"Yes, I saw the arl and his men arrive," said Ser Gilmore before getting to the meat of the matter. "I fear your brother's hound has the kitchen in uproar once again. Nan is threatening to leave."

"Nan's just blowing off steam," Erin assured him. "She's always been like that."

"Your mother disagrees," Ser Gilmore chuckled. "She insists you collect the dog and quickly. You know these mabari hounds. He'll listen only to his master or perhaps his master's sister in your case; anyone else risks having an arm bitten off."

"He knows better than to hurt anyone," Erin said firmly.

"I'm not willing to test that. You and your brother are quite lucky to have your own mabari war hound, you know. 'Smart enough not to talk,' as my father used to say," Ser Gilmore's tone again became amused. "Of course, that means he's easily bored. Nan swears he confounds her just to amuse himself. At any rate, your mother would have me accompany you until the matter is settled. "

"Father sent me to find Fergus, first," said Erin.

"The teyrna was very specific," Ser Gilmore told her. "'Unless the castle is under attack, you collect that dog before doing anything else.' Her words, not mine."

Erin sighed. "Very well…"

"Before we go my lady," Gilmore said a mite nervously. "Might I beg a question?" Erin nodded. "Is it true there's a Grey Warden in the castle?"

"It's true," Erin told him with a warm smile. "It's Conrí."

"Truly? Then… is it also true this he was asking after me?"

Erin nodded again. "He intends to test you for recruitment."

"Maker's breath, are you certain?!" Gilmore said, excitement rolling off him. "Can you imagine it? Me, a Grey Warden?! It'd be everything I've dreamed of!" Gilmore began to settle as he noticed the highly amused smirk on Erin's face. "Of course, I shouldn't get ahead of myself. Pardon my outburst."

Erin chuckled and led the way toward the kitchen. It was hard to miss the excitement, with muffled barks and yelling coming from the door. An elderly woman was standing near the larder door, shouting at a pair of elven servants. This was Nan, the castle's cook and the twins' former nanny.

"Get that bloody beast out of the larder!" Nan snapped.

"But mistress, it won't let us near!" Cath protested.

"If I can't get into that larder, I'll skin both you useless elves, I swear it."

"Er. Calm down, good woman," said Ser Gilmore. "We're here to help."

"You!" Nan barked at Gilmore before her ire turned to Erin. "And you! That bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder. That beast should be put down!"

"Maybe you should lock your larder up tighter..." Erin answered with a grin she knew would infuriate Nan.

She wasn't disappointed.

Nan swelled up angrily like a puff adder of the marshes as Erin giggled quietly. "If I locked my larder up any tighter, **we **couldn't get in!"

"Oh, dear…" The elven girl put a hand on Nan's shoulder and, flinching as she did so, as though frightened the old woman's fury was about to turn on her, muttered "Mistress, please… calm down"

"That's it!" Nan barked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "I'll quit! Inform the teyrna! I'll go and cook at some nice estate in the Bannorn!"

Fortunately, Ser Gilmore took charge of the situation, speaking in a placating tone "Nan, calm down. We'll get the dog."

Nan gave a snort and gestured to the larder door. "Just get him gone! I've enough to deal with feeding a castle full of hungry soldiers!"

Waving the elves back, Nan stepped aside. Erin and Ser Gilmore stepped forward. Erin reached the door first, twisted the knob, and the two warriors stepped inside, closing the door behind them.

The first thing Erin noticed was the mess. Plates and glasses lay smashed and shattered on the floor. Bottles of wine older than her lay broken, their priceless contents seeping into the stone floor. Blocks of cheese, bread and other foods lay on the floor with large paw prints stomped into them. And in the middle of this chaos, sniffing around as if he was looking for something, was her brother's pet mabari war hound, Koun, his light brown fur streaked with spilt wine and milk. _By the Maker, how does he do it! _ As soon as the dog saw her, Koun immediately began barking in an insistent fashion, running back and forth from Erin's feet to a cluster of sacks in a corner of the larder. Erin knew a cue when she saw it.

"What is it, boy? Are you trying to tell me something?" The dog's barks only grew more insistent.

"It does seem like he's trying to tell you something" Gilmore conceded. Suddenly, there was a scurrying sound from behind the sacks, followed by a cacophony of angry hisses. "Wait, what was that?"

From behind the sacks, a half dozen large brown shapes emerged, hissing angrily at the disturbance. More began to emerge from cracks and holes in the wall. Drawing a long bladed dagger-her swords was far too cumbersome in the confined space- Erin, Gilmore and Koun went to work with a vengeance as the large rats went on the attack, red eyes flashing and yellowed, knife-like incisors bared.

Within seconds, the fur had literally begun to fly. Erin skewered one rat with her blade and stamped on another, breaking its back. A third leapt into the air, its jaws snapping at her hand, but she seized it in midair and snapped its neck, tossing its furry corpse aside. Gilmore impaled two simultaneously with his sword, while Koun clawed another and shook one more to death in his jaws. A dozen rats attacked the trio, and in as many heartbeats, the vile rodents were dead, at the cost of only a few minor bites and scratches to the victors.

"Your hound must have chased them into the larder through their holes. I guess he wasn't raiding the larder after all" Ser Gilmore mused.

Koun gave a bark that sounded almost resentful at the accusation. The old tales said mabaris were smart enough to understand the conversations of their masters, so it wouldn't surprise Erin if the dog was fully aware what they were accusing him off.

"Those were some very large rats..." Erin mused.

Ser Gilmore added "Those were rats from the Korcari Wilds; best not to tell Nan. She's upset enough as it is! But seeing as you've got your hound under control, I'll be off; I'm to prepare for the arrival of more of the arl's men".

With that, Ser Gilmore sheathed his blade, stepped out of the larder and closed the door behind him.

Erin and Koun stepped out of the larder after cleaning themselves up a bit to find Nan and her two elven assistants staring at her uncertainly; doubtlessly they'd heard the noise, the barks and the sound of fighting, but hadn't known what to make of it. Nan recovered first, pointing an accusing finger at the dog, mistaking the rat blood dripping from his teeth as meat juices.

"There he is, as brazen as you please, licking his chops after helping himself to the roast, no doubt!"

"Hardly, he was defending your larder from rats. Big ones" Erin replied in defense of her furred friend, affectionately scratching his ear.

Cath gave a yelp of fright. "Rats?! Not the large grey ones!"

Her male counterpart also shook vigorously with fear. "They'll rip you to shreds, they will!"

Nan gave an exasperated sigh at her helpers' cowardice. "See! Now you've gone and scared the servants!" Another sigh escaped her lips and she put a hand to her brow. "I expect those filthy things are dead?"

Erin patted Koun on the head. "Conrí's brave, faithful war hound made sure it's safe".

Nan gave a snort and replied "I bet that dog led those things in there to begin with!" At this, Koun loped over to Nan and gave her a pitiful whine, nuzzling against her leg and fixing her with his large, wide eyes. Nan scowled "Don't even start with the sad eyes! I'm immune to your so-called 'charms'!"

But Koun's whines and playful manipulation paid off as Erin saw Nan's severe expression thaw and a thin smile appear, much like the ones she'd seen as a child, she'd been both annoyed and yet secretly amused by Conrí's antics as a little boy. With a reluctant laugh, she turned away and tossed a lump of pork crackling to the dog.

"There, and don't say Nan never gives you anything. Bloody dog…" Koun gave a happy bark as he chewed on the meat.

Nan tossed Erin an apple as well by way of thanks as well.

"Thank you, my lady. Now we can get back to work," with that, she turned back to the elves and she was back to her old self; sharp and harsh. "That's right, you two. Quit standing about! Adney, sweep that hearth! And Cath, do you think you can serve that to the teyrn with dirt from the floor all over it!"

As Erin departed, she heard Adney mutter. "Miserable old bat!"

"Old bat, am I!" she heard Nan snap, and the youngest Cousland quickened her pace before she could hear the rest of Nan's terse reply.

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"And my dear Bryce brought this back from Orlais last year," Teyrna Eleanor Cousland told her long time friend Lady Landra, gesturing to the silk gown she wore. "The marquis who gave it to him was drunk, I understand, and mistook Bryce for the king!"

The pair shared a laugh as Erin and Koun approached. "Ah, and here is my lovely daughter. I take it by the presence of that troublesome hound of your brother's that the situation in the kitchen is handled?"

"Nan's head exploded and Koun ate the kitchen staff," Erin chuckled.

"Well, at least one of us will have had a decent dinner," Eleanor droned, her eyes finding Koun. The mabari barked happily. "Perhaps that hound left something I can feed my guests. Darling, you remember Lady Landra? Bann Loren's wife?"

"I think we last met at your mother's spring salon," Landra smiled.

"Of course. It is good to see you again, my lady," Erin bowed slightly.

"You're too kind, dear girl. Didn't I spend half the salon trying to convince you to marry my son?" Landra chuckled.

She had indeed had a few too many.

"And you made a very poor case for it too," droned a young man standing near the pair of elder women.

"You remember my son, Dairren. He's… not married yet, either."

"Don't listen to her," Dairren told Erin dryly. "It is good to see you again, my lady."

"You as well," Erin smiled politely.

"And this is my lady in waiting, Iona," Landra motioned to a blond elvish girl to her left. "Do say something, dear."

"It is an honor to meet you, my lady," Iona greeted. "You are as pretty as the rumors describe."

"She says this after seeing you whacking stuffed men in the courtyard, and sweating like a mule," Eleanor snickered.

"Your daughter's skill with a blade is most impressive," Dairren commended.

"I was quite the battle maiden myself, once upon a time," Eleanor allowed. "But I believe it was the softer arts that won me a husband."

"I can handle my own affairs, thank you," Erin snipped.

"All evidence to the contrary," Eleanor responded.

One of the few points of friction between mother and daughter was Erin's love life. She had bluntly refused to marry any of the suitors her parents had brought to her. They all shared one thing in common that Erin found extremely unattractive.

They were male.

Landra smiled and then said to Eleanor. "I think I shall retire for now, my dear. Dairren, I will see you and Iona at supper."

Her son nodded and motioned to the elf maid. "I think we shall retire to the study for now."

"Good evening, your Ladyship."

"You should say goodbye to Fergus while you have the chance," Eleanor told her daughter when Landra was out of sight.

"Do you know where Fergus might be?"

"If he's not out with his men, probably upstairs with Oriana," Eleanor smiled fondly.

Erin sighed. "Why can't I go with Father and Fergus?"

"I know it's difficult to stay in the castle and watch others ride off, but we must see to our duties first. You understand that, don't you?"

"What if they fall without me?"

"It's in the Maker's hands now, and we must cope the best we can."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Erin muttered.

"As do I. Your father and brothers are marching off to fight Maker-knows-what. All the assurances in the world don't comfort me. But it wouldn't help for us to take up arms and follow. Fergus, Conrí and your father have their duty and we have ours."

"Are you staying in the castle?" Erin asked, eager to change the topic.

"For a few days. Then I'll travel with Lady Landra to her estate and keep her company for a time. Your father thinks my presence here might undermine your authority."

Erin was tempted to beg her to stay, but she knew it wouldn't work and would only serve to irritate her mother.

"As you wish," she said finally.

Eleanor smiled. "Good. I was worried you might you might be nervous about running the castle alone. I needn't have been concerned."

"Did you hear about the Grey Wardens that arrived a bit ago?"

"Yes, I heard the men mention it. You haven't got it into your head that you want to be recruited?"

"Even if I had, the Warden would refuse to take me."

"Why is that?" Eleanor frowned, clearly thinking the Warden's would be privileged to have her fierce girl.

"Well, he has a… personal interest in keeping me here,"

Eleanor's eye widened. "Is he…?" Erin nodded. "Did he say why?"

"He's ahead of schedule and decided to stop here on the way from Orzammar. And he's adamant about forcing Duncan to keep his promise. He's talking with Father and Arl Howe in the main hall. I should get going, since Father wants me to find Fergus."

Eleanor surprised her daughter by throwing her arms around Erin's armored shoulders. "Thank you. I love you, my darling girl. You know that, don't you?"

Erin, caught off guard could only mumble. "I'm hardly a girl any longer."

Eleanor pulled back slightly, cupping Erin's cheek in her hand. "Indeed. I turned around and here you are. A fine woman in your own right. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. Go do what you must then. I will see you soon." The Teyrna walked off, no doubt heading to see her wayward son.

Elissa, her curiosity perked by the conversation before, made her way to the library. Speaking briefly with Dairren, she was assured he would write her about the goings on in the south, before she made her way to her true destination.

"This is a wonderful dog" Iona mused "He seems very noble and intelligent," eliciting a happy bark from the mabari. "Is there something you wished of me, my lady?"

"You're very pretty, if I may say so," Erin told her.

Iona blushed and smiled softly. "My lady is very kind. Thank you."

Erin pressed on, looking thoughtfully at her "I must admit, I haven't seen many elven ladies in waiting"

Iona nodded. "Lady Landra has been very good to me; I am lucky." She looked around conspiratorially and continued, in a much softer voice. "If I may… I see you have no ladies-in-waiting. Is this usual for a noblewoman of your rank?" she seemed a mite worried she was over stepping her bounds.

Erin dropped her voice to the pitch of hers, looked over her shoulder to ensure Dairren wasn't listening and whispered, with a sly smile on her lips. "If I found a maid like you, I might consider it."

Iona only reddened further. "You are very kind," she demurely said in answer. "I am no one special. You make me blush."

"In all honesty," Erin continued, speaking truthfully this time. "I've never really desired one. I'm not much for be fussed over."

Iona nodded understandingly at this. "That is a very Ferelden attitude I think, to be so self-sufficient."

"How did you come to know Lady Landra?"

"My family has been in service for many years," Iona explained. "Lady Landra has elevated my place as a reward for our loyalty." At this, a worried edge entered her voice and her eyes seemed uncertain. "I only hope this position will pass to my daughter."

"You have a daughter?" Erin asked, intrigued.

Iona looked a little chagrined and murmured. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have mentioned her," to the floor.

Erin lifted her chin up and gave her a soft smile. "It's quite alright" she assured her. "Any mother has a right to be proud of her children...I know mine is."

Encouraged by this, Iona spoke up. "Her name is Amethyne. Her father...died of a wasting sickness two years ago."

"I'm sorry," Erin said. "You speak of your daughter fondly."

"Amethyne is my life. You will understand when you have children. This is why your mother keeps you from the coming battle," an edge in her voice telling Erin just how much she valued her daughter, and how well she thought of her mother for her own such judgment.

Seeking to get away from such dark thoughts, Erin gave Iona a wry grin and slyly whispered "I bet she has your beautiful eyes..."

Iona giggled a little at this. "She...does. People say she looks a great deal like me. I am the only one to see her father in her..."

"But surely, every parent wishes their children to do well. You don't hope for more for your daughter?" Erin enquired, curious at the thought.

"I...have risen very high for my people. I would not tempt fate by wishing more," Iona answered, an uncertain look in her eyes.

Erin nodded at this logic and concluded, "It sounds like Lady Landra has been good to you."

Iona nodded in agreement. "Lady Landra is good to her elven servants. That is not true in many households, but I hear it is true in yours. It speaks well of your father to show such compassion."

Erin nodded "Many nobles challenge my father's view of equality for the elves. I respect him for it; moments in my life have proven the valuable contributions elves have made, and will make, to Thedas. If it were up to me, I'd tear down the walls of every Alienage, scrap all those outrageous laws that restrict your people and make using the term 'knife-ears' a punishable offence. Your people have contributed so much to this kingdom; it is shameful the way they are treated. I would see it changed!"

As she finished, she saw Iona's sapphire eyes almost overflowing with respect for her, and what was more, every word she had sent to the girl, she meant it.

Feeling she'd given away a good deal of herself, she turned back to the girl and smiled. "Tell me about yourself, please." Iona looked quite surprised that the daughter of so important a human lady would show such great interest in her, but she recovered and said. "I am an open book, my lady. What would you like to know?"

"Where were you born?"

"Lady Landra's mansion is not half as large as your castle, so my family lives in the Alienage."

Now she understood why her respect had emerged: she was from an Alienage, she knew precisely what hardships her people endured.

"Do you… enjoy… living there?" she asked, immediately regretting asking a stupid question.

Her unease must have shown on her face, because Iona giggled a little and answered calmly.

"There, we do not stand out so much. In an Alienage, my daughter learns what it is to be elven...as much as possible. So much of our history has been lost..." she finished regretfully, and Erin empathized with her.

_How terrible it must be, to lose everything that makes your people who they are. They deserve so much better than that…_she thought.

Trying not to sully their conversation with anger, she casually asked "Is there anyone special back home?"

The elf girl looked surprised at this, but shook her head. "No longer. I have no time for such things."

"Surely you jest" Erin chuckled "Someone as beautiful as you?"

Iona's eyes went wide as she took in the compliment but she giggled and blushed all the same. "You flatter me, my lady. I am not so pretty that suitors are lining up if that's what you mean."

Erin laughed and replied "I find that hard to believe, but perhaps you could tell me more later, as I think we should get to know each other better, Lady Iona,"

"Aren't we doing just that?" Iona enquired, a little uncertain. "What more did you have in mind?"

Erin approached the elf maid, bent down to her ear and whispered, "Something more… intimate, later on, in my room?"

Iona's eyes widened, but a small smile crinkled the edge of her lips. "I… I see. I think I might like that."

This time, Iona came over to Erin, running a hand along her cheek as she pressed her lips to Erin right ear and whispered, "If I come to your door when everyone is asleep… would that be agreeable, my lady?"

"Please...call me Erin" she replied in answer.

The elf's eyes brightened and her smile spanned from ear to ear almost.

She kissed her on the right cheek and whispered "Until tonight, then."

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"Is there really going to be a war, papa? Will you bring me back a sward?" Erin recognized the speaker as her young nephew, Oren.

As Erin stepped inside, she saw his eldest brother Fergus, clad in a heavy suit of chainmail with a sword sheathed on his back, crouch down beside his son and ruffle Oren's hair. Fergus had a good five years on the twins and more than a head in height on Conrí. Unlike Conrí, who'd inherited his father's broad shoulders and fairly stocky frame, Fergus was more like their mother; tall and thin, though like his father, Fergus's hair was dark brown and cut short. His eyes were those of his father as well.

He laughed as he ruffled his son's black hair, smiling "That's 'sword', Oren. And I'll get you the mightiest one I can find. I promise I'll be back before you know it. "

"I wish victory was indeed so certain. My heart is… disquiet," Oriana, Fergus's young wife chipped in fearfully.

She was slightly younger than Fergus, but Erin knew full well she loved him with all her heart. Her slightly accented voice betrayed her as being from Antiva, that mysterious desert nation of merchants and assassins. She was pretty, with mousy brown hair, bright green eyes, with a silver tongue to match Erin's own and a friendly disposition. Erin had, at first been a bit put out by this new arrival years before, but now regarded her fully as a member of the family.

But in treating her like a sister, both Erin and Conrí took every opportunity to tease them about it. _And today will be no exception! _Erin gleefully thought as she stepped inside. Fergus put a hand on his wife's arm.

"Now, don't frighten the boy, love. I speak the truth," As the floorboards creaked, Fergus turned round and saw her. Cracking a smile, he turned back to his family and said "And here's my little sister to see me off! Now dry your eyes, love, and wish me well!"

"Let me know when you two are finished!" Erin snarked.

Fergus laughed at this, and Oriana cracked a small smile. "HA! When there's man in your life, you'll understand"

Erin gave a snort. "Men are overrated."

Fergus chuckled at this. "One day you'll meet someone who can handle you. Mark my words."

"You will be missed, Brother."

"If it's any consolation, I'm sure I'll freeze in the southern rain and be completely jealous of you up here, warm and safe," Fergus smiled.

"I am positively thrilled that you will be so miserable, my husband," Oriana smirked impishly.

"I wish I could come with you." Erin sighed.

"As do I." Fergus agreed. "It's going to be tiring, killing all these darkspawn myself."

"In Antiva, a woman fighting in battle would be… unthinkable," Oriana pointed out.

"Is that so?" Fergus flirted. "I always heard Antivan woman were quite dangerous."

"With kindness and poison only, my husband."

"This from the woman who serves me my tea!" Fergus chuckled.

"Do you really think the war will be over so soon?" Erin asked.

Fergus nodded "Word from the south is the battle has gone well so far. There's no real evidence this is a true Blight; just a large raid."

"Could that be true?" Oriana asked, her voice worried.

"I'll see for myself soon enough. Pray for me, love, and I'll be back in a month or two," Fergus answered, then cupped his wife's face in his hands and their lips met.

Deciding to once again get a drop on her family, Erin grinned mischievously. "Do you know there's a Grey Warden in the castle?"

"Really!" Oren squeaked, his eyes lighting up with excitement, much as Erin's had when she was her nephew's age and the subject of the Order had come up. "Was he riding a griffon?"

"Hush, Oren" his mother chided him "Griffons only exist in stories now."

Fergus smiled at his son and then turned back to his sister. "I'd heard that. Did he say why he'd come?"

"He intends to test Ser Gilmore."

"Good for him! I hope he makes it!" her brother remarked. "Still, if I was a Grey Warden, I'd have my eye on you...not that Father would allow it! Or our dear brother for that matter."

"Well, Conrí won't have to worry about a Warden kidnapping me in the night. Since he's the one here,"

Fergus sputtered. "He's back? When did he get here?"

"Not too long ago. He's talking with Father and Howe, and no doubt mother by now. Oh, that reminds me. Father sent me with a message; he wants you to take the troops to Ostagar ahead of him."

Fergus sighed. "So the arl's men are delayed! You'd think they were all walking backwards!" Fergus sighed again in exasperation, then kissed Oriana passionately again, bent down to Oren and kissed his son on the brow and then stood up and hugged Erin. "Well, I'd better get underway. So many darkspawn to behead, so little time!"

"I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to wait for us before taking your leave," an instantly recognizable baritone spoke from behind them.

Erin looked up and saw his mother and father standing at the door of Fergus's room. Eleanor and Bryce stepped into the room and walked over to their son, daughter, daughter-in-law and grandson.

Eleanor approached Fergus with open arms and pulled him into a close hug. "Be well, my son" she murmured, stroking her eldest child's hair, "I will pray for your safety every day you are gone."

"You could have delivered your message yourself," Erin muttered a little petulantly, somewhat annoyed at having been reduced to little more than an errand girl.

Bryce laughed. "And miss having all my children in one place before I leave? Not likely."

"All?" Oriana asked, before spying her brother in law standing in the doorway, a warm smile on his face. "Conrí?"

Before anyone could move towards their wayward kin, a tan blur blazed past and bowled Conrí over.

"Ugh… good to see you too, Koun…" he groaned before having his face nearly licked off by his faithful mabari. After a long moment of being licked and listening to his family's mirth, Conrí finally pushed Koun's muzzle away from his face. "Yeah, I'm bringing you with this time… your breath alone could kill a horde of darkspawn."

"So, you finally decide to drag your carcass back here, eh?" Fergus chuckled.

"You don't write," Erin laughingly scolded. "You don't sodding visit!"

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Fergus went on.

"The Maker sustain and preserve us all. Watch over our sons, husbands and fathers, and bring them back safely to us," Oriana prayed as Conrí peeled himself from the stone floor.

It was a special, intense moment of peace and contemplation of family...

Which Fergus spoiled so magnificently by glibly joking in mock prayer, "And bring us some wenches and ale while you're at it… for the men, of course!" he quickly added at the sight of his wife's scandalized expression.

"Fergus!" she squawked, looking again like an angry mother hen. "You would say this in front of your mother!" Oriana snapped, gesturing at her mother-in-law's disapproving stare.

The serious moment was interrupted perfectly by Oren, who confusedly asked "What's a wench? Is that what you pull on to get the bucket out of the well!"

Erin had to put a hand over her mouth to stop himself bursting out laughing at his nephew's innocent, hilarious comment, but all the family could see her shoulders shaking.

"A wench, Oren," Bryce answered. "is a woman who pours the ale in a tavern. Or a woman who drinks a lot of ale...!" he added in a quiet undertone, though not quite enough to be unheard by his wife.

"Bryce!" Eleanor laughingly scolded. "Maker's Breath, it's like living with a pack of small boys! Thankfully, I have a daughter."

Fergus finished laughing his head off and kissed his mother on the forehead. "I'll miss you, mother dear!" he said, turning to face his younger sister "You'll take good care of her while I'm away?"

"Mother can take care of herself," Erin answered, shrugging her shoulders. "Always has."

Fergus nodded and chuckled "It's true! They should be sending her, not me! She'd scold those darkspawn back into the Deep Roads!" he joked, wincing as his mother slapped him in the ribs.

"Well, I'm glad you think this is funny!"

The conversation turned away as Conrí, Eleanor, Oriana, Fergus and Bryce began to talk among themselves. Conrí leaned against the wall, just enjoying finally being home, as brief as it would be.

Suddenly, Erin felt a hand tugging at her belt. She looked down and saw Oren looking up at her with an impish grin. "Mama says you're going to be watching over us while Papa is gone. Is that true, auntie?"

Erin gave an exasperated sigh. "I really wish you wouldn't call me that."

Oren giggled happily and said, "But you're my auntie! What else could I call you, silly!"

Oriana looked up and smiled understandingly. "Your aunt no doubt thinks it makes her sound too old, Oren."

"But she is old!" Oren protested. "But not as old as you, Mama!"

"This is your influence, Fergus," Oriana told her husband archly.

"What?" Fergus protested. "I didn't say anything."

"Will you teach me to use a sword, uncle?" Oren asked, turning to Conrí. "Then I can fight evil too!" he waved his arm as though he were cutting a path through a horde of demons with a sword. "Take that, dire bunny! All darkspawn, fear my Sword of Truthiness!"

"You bet!" Conrí chuckled. "Let's go!"

Oriana darted forward and seized Conrí by his braid as he turned to leave. "Fergus, there are times your family causes me great pain," she chuckled in exasperation. Conrí sighed, his neck craned back by his sister-in-law's grip, and raised his hands in defeat.

"Now, now. Mind your mother, Oren," Fergus laughed.

Oren huffed in frustration. "I never get to do anything!"

Erin laughed at her nephew's expense, and then turned to see her father staring at her. "You'll want to get an early night, pup. You've much to do tomorrow," Bryce stated.

Fergus chuckled at this. "Getting sent to bed early, are we?"

Erin gave a wolfish grin. "I don't mind," she said as she walked up to her brother and embraced him. "I have someone waiting for me!" she whispered in his ear.

Fergus choked with laughter at this. "What! You saucy minx!" he grinned, earning another elbow in the ribs from Oriana.

"Fergus, really!" she pleaded, nodding at Oren; fortunately, the boy was too busy playing tug-of-war with Koun to notice his elders.

"It's the elven lass that arrived with Lady Landra, isn't it!" Fergus interrogated. "You've always had a soft spot for them, so don't you tell me it isn't!" Fergus laughed again.

"You and Conrí enjoy the long march south..." Erin archly replied "in the **cold**!"

Fergus winced at this. "A warm bed doesn't sound too bad now, come to think of it!." He chuckled and then sighed, and the two siblings embraced in a crushing bear hug. "At any rate, I'll miss you, sister. Take care of everyone, and be here when I get back!"

Her father was looking at his younger son with great scrutiny. Erin went over to Bryce and looked her father in the eye.

"You should be on your way, pup; long day tomorrow!" her father remarked.

For the first time, Erin let a tinge of unease creep into her voice. "I must speak with you, father. Are you sure you, Conrí and Fergus will be alright?"

"Your brothers and I go into battle, not an afternoon tea!" her father sighed. "Who knows what will happen to us? I will say this, however," Erin could hear the pride in his voice. "You're my darling, I love you, and I trust you completely to carry on the Cousland name, if the worst should happen."

Erin felt tears well up in her eyes, that her father trusted her so deeply, so completely. "But don't worry about me, dear girl. You'll have plenty to keep you occupied while I'm gone."

Wiping her eyes dry, Erin took a serious tone. "Is it truly wise to send all our forces south?"

Bryce nodded. "When the king demands it. In fact, not sending our forces south would be a distinctly bad idea. Don't worry, pup," Bryce added placating at his daughter's unease. "You shouldn't see many problems. But I want you to prepare the men...just in case."

"In case of what?" Erin had to ask.

Bryce gave a grimace at the question. "You've read the stories, pup. Legends of the Blights tell of… horrible things. If we can't defeat these darkspawn, you must prepare for the worst."

Erin nodded, making a mental note to get up early in the next few days and spend some serious time on the practice field. "But come, let us not speak of such worrisome things. We shall assume that all will go well."

Erin nodded. "I'll do my best, Father.

"I know that you'll do me proud. You've grown into a sensible woman, that much is clear."

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Conrí was woken late that night, his ears picking up the sounds of Koun barking angrily at the door. He climbed out of his bed and grabbed his Greatsword before creeping over to the door. When he heard a shuffling outside, he tensed, just as the door was kicked in. His hand flew up, just catching an arrow that was inches from his face. Two men stood in the hall, one with a bow, the other a sword and shield.

With a growl, he snapped the arrow and drew his Greatsword as he marched slowly from his room.

"Where is the Teyrn?!" one of the invaders snapped. "Tell us!"

Conrí's only answer was to cleave one of the speakers compatriots in two with a single swing, before pivoting and lopping the head off another. One of the bastards managed to get behind Conrí but before he could strike, the man froze and a gurgle spilled from his mouth. Conrí quickly saw why; two feet of steel blade was protruding from his chest. Conrí's savior pulled the sword from the invader, revealing herself as Erin.

"You alright, dear brother?"

"I'm fine. Come, let's clear these bastards from our home."

"Agreed," Erin grinned bloodily, brandishing her longswords.

"Koun, kill!" Conrí barked.

The mabari snarled and charged one of the three remaining men. His target went down with a scream as Koun tore at him. Before the man's friends could assist, the twins were upon them. Conrí shoved most of his blade through the archer's chest as Erin slashed the other's chest three times, one blade right after the other.

"Conrí! Erin!" Eleanor came running out of her room, wearing both a set of studded leather armor and a longbow. "I heard the fighting outside and I feared the worst! Are either of you hurt?"

"I was just about to ask you that," Conrí told her.

"They never got through the door, thanks to you two. A scream woke me up. There were men in the hall, so I bared the door. Did you see their shields? Those are Howe's men! Why would they attack us?"

"I don't know but I intend…" Conrí's eyes widened in dread. "Oriana… Oren…" he turned towards the door. He hadn't taken three steps before the door was knocked open and a screaming man was thrown out. He landed on the floor with an axe buried in his chest.

"Sodding Ancestors," Serena snapped as she followed the man out. "Can't you just…" she seized her axe, wrenching it from the man's chest. "Die quietly?!" she swung the axe down, splitting the invader's head.

Seeing her audience, Serena panted: "Your brother's little nug-runner and his mother are alright."

With a sigh, she started rolling her shield arm's shoulder. Erin darted past, followed by Eleanor.

"I'm in your debt, Serena," Conrí told her. "I will see you rewarded for this, I swear."

"I didn't do it for the reward boss."

"Regardless. Where's Brosca?"

Before Serena could answer, a voice came from Erin's room. "My lady?" A young elven girl had poked her head out. Hearing a voice calling for her Erin came back out of Fergus's room.

"Iona, are you alright?" the only Cousland daughter asked as she ran to her… companion.

"I'm okay," she assured the young woman.

Oriana came out with Eleanor, leading a bawling Oren.

"We have to move," Conrí told them. "Aeducan, Koun, I need you to stay with the others while I get my armor."

Koun barked in agreement as Serena nodded. "Erin, Mother, stay in front of Oriana, Oren and Iona. Oriana," Conrí tossed her his belt knife. "I trust you know how to use that."

Oriana nodded, her face pale with worry as she drew the blade from its sheath.

Just as Conrí had finished pulling the last of his plate on, Garik burst through the door dividing the hall. "Grab something sharp and pointy! We've got company!"

Conrí rejoined the group as more of Howe's men poured into the hall. Erin, Eleanor and Garik drew their bows, nocking an arrow.

"Loose!" Conrí barked. Three men went down with arrows sticking from their chests. Conrí, Koun and Serena charged the remaining men, cutting and mauling them down.

"We have to move quickly. Serena, you and Koun are with me. We'll clear the way as much as we can for the rest. Let's go!"

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Conrí grunted as he and Serena helped his Bryce into the larder.

"Set him down here," Conrí told his recruit. "I'll see if I can't find some bandages. See if you can stop the bleeding."

"Right."

Conrí moved off, looking for something to wrap his father's wounds. He tore up a burlap sack into a long strip before returning and helping Serena bandage the stab wound in his father's side.

"Bryce!" came a shout from the door.

Conrí spun and went for his blade before realizing it was his mother.

"Maker's blood, what's happening? You're bleeding!"

"Howe's men… found me first. Almost… did me in right there. Would have… if Conrí and Serena hadn't found me when they did."

"I'll kill Howe for what he's done!" Erin hissed.

"He can't get away with this…" Bryce grunted. "The king will…"

"We must get you out of here!" Eleanor insisted.

"I… I won't survive the standing, I think…"

"Then we'll just have to drag you out!" Conrí barked.

"Only… if you're willing to leave pieces of me behind, pup…"

"Bryce! This is no time for jokes!" Eleanor snapped. "Once Howe's men break through the gate, they will find us! We must go!"

"Someone… must find Fergus… tell him what's happened."

"You can tell him yourself, Father," Erin told him, her eyes watering.

"Would that I could, pup," Bryce smiled sadly.

"He's right," Serena spoke up. "I've seen that kind of wound one too many times. Without a healer, he has little chance." Conrí's head drooped as Erin began crying in earnest.

"We'll take the others to Ostagar and tell Fergus and the king what has happened."

"Father…" Erin collapsed next to her mother, sobbing into her hands. Bryce, despite his wounds, lifted his daughters chin.

"Howe thinks he will use the chaos to advance himself. Make him wrong, pup. See that justice is done. You must go. For your own sake and for Ferelden's."

"I will Father… for you," Erin promised.

"I'll take Howe's head myself if I can," Conrí swore. Bryce smiled at his younger son.

"We have to leave quickly then," Garik told them.

"Bryce, are you… sure?" Eleanor asked.

"Our children will not die of Howe's treachery. They will live, and make their mark on the world."

"Erin, go with Conrí and the others. You have a better chance to escape without me."

"Eleanor…"

"Hush, Bryce," Eleanor scolded. "I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time. But I won't abandon you."

Conrí punched the floor, his gauntleted fist cracking the stone.

"My place is with your father, Conrí. At his side, to death and beyond."

"I'm… so sorry it's come to this, my love," Bryce sobbed.

"We've had a good life. It's up to our children now."

"Then go pups," Bryce gasped. "Warn your brother… and know we love you both. Oriana… I'm so sorry, dear… tell Fergus… we love him." Oriana nodded, tears pouring down her face.

A crashing of wood echoed through the palace.

"They've broken through!" Garik cried. "We have to go, now!"


	6. Mysteries of the Dales

Chapter 6 Mysteries of the Dales

"What do you say, lethallan?" Tamlen asked his hunting partner.

Tira Mahariel grimaced as she contemplated, her arrow aimed vaguely at their quarry. While it was unlikely these three, unarmed humans were bandits, they may still cause trouble.

"Let's find out what they're doing here."

"Does it matter? Hunting or banditry, we'll need to move camp if we let them live."

"L-look," said one of the humans. "We didn't come here to be trouble. We just found a cave."

"Yes! A cave!" one of his friends agreed. "With carvings like I've never seen! We thought there might be…"

"Treasure," Tamlen snorted. "So you're more akin to thieves than real bandits."

"If you've been there, you should have treasure to prove it," Tira commented fairly.

"Here…" the second human stammered. "We found this just inside the entrance," he handed Tamlen a small carved statue of a woman with halla antlers.

"This statue has carvings… is this elvish? Written elvish?" Tamlen asked, his voice incredulous.

"There's more inside the ruins… we didn't get very far in though…"

"How do you know that's elvish, Tamlen?" Tira asked, leaning over to get a look at the statue.

"I've seen something similar on the Keeper's scrolls," Tamlen informed her before turning back to the humans. "And this is all you found? Why didn't you look for more?"

"There was a demon!" the second human blurted out. "It was huge, with black eyes! Thank the Maker we were able to out-run it!"

Tamlen scoffed. "A demon… where is this cave?"

"Just off the west I think," the first human told them. "There's a hole in the cliff face and the cave is just inside."

"Well, what should we do with them?" Tamlen asked.

"You've frightened them enough," Tira told him, lowering her bow and returning the arrow to her quiver. "They won't bother us," she added, brushing a strand of black hair out of her emerald eyes.

Most of her hair had been restrained by three ponytails, one at the back of her head and two on the side, but some strands still found themselves loose.

"Run along then, shems," Tamlen told them, his tone bored, almost disappointed. "And don't come back until we Dalish have moved on."

Tamlen turned back to Tira when the humans were out of sight.

"Well, shall we see if there's any truth to their story? These carvings make me curious."

"Shouldn't we inform the Keeper?"

"She might be interested in these carvings, but let's see if there's more before we get excited."

"It… looks like the shems were telling the truth…" Tamlen whispered as they entered the ruin. "But these ruins look more human than elven. This place makes me nervous."

"So talk then, if it'll calm you down," Tira told him, her hands on her swords.

"I suppose so… hey, weren't you supposed to be assisting Master Ilen today? How did you end up coming with me?"

"I got out of it," Tira told him. "I prefer to hunt."

"Me too, even if you are a better hunter than I am…"

The hunters grimaced as a pair of giant spiders propelled from the ceiling, attacking them. Tira drew her swords, one long Dar Missan, the other shorter, a weapon of Tira's own design. Tamlen fell back, drawing his bow.

When both spiders lay dead, the two Dalish hunters continued on. "You really think the keeper will want to come here?" Tira asked after a while.

"She takes any opportunity to gather elven lore. Whenever the clans come together, they exchange whatever they've found. She shouldn't come here without hunters to guard her though. The air here feels so… sinister. Well, whatever it is… it won't stop me. A Dalish hunter fears nothing!"

"Why did you want to come down here so badly?" Tira asked as they rounded a corner to a long hallway.

"Aren't you curious? We could be discovering our history. Minstrels will write songs about us!"

"You aren't fooling me, Tamlen," Tira droned.

Tamlen sighed. "If I were to bring some valuable ancestral artifact back to the keeper, she might forgive me for… well, you know."

"We were both brawling," Tira told him. "I don't see why you got punished."

"Because I was caught and wouldn't give up any names. Of course she was angry with me."

The pair entered another long hallway. After a brief skirmish with a small number of spiders they kept going.

"I can't believe this," Tamlen whispered as he came up to an old statue. "You recognize this, don't you?"

"It's worn, but it looks vaguely familiar…" Tira agreed.

"Back when our people lived in Arlathan, statues like these honored the Creators. When the shems enslaved us, much of that lore was lost. This looks like human architecture… with a statue of our people. Can these ruins date back to the time of Arlathan?"

"It's interesting," Tira acknowledged. "So much of our past is lost to us…"

"I'd never have guessed ancient elves might have lived here! With humans." Tamlen laughed briefly and started heading down the hall again.

A groan stopped them cold. They both turned to look behind them. Something… was getting up off the floor. With a moan the creature started towards them, drawing a rusty sword as it did. Several more groans echoed around them as even more of the creatures were standing up.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn…."

"Kill them!" Tira cried swinging her swords, taking a head off one and the arm off another.

The beheaded one fell back down, but the second kept coming, picking up the sword from its loose hand.

When the last of the creatures lay dead, Tamlen panted out, "Were those walking corpses? This place is haunted!"

"They seemed like they were guarding that door," Tira pointed out.

"Be careful, lethallan," Tamlen hissed as Tira opened the rusty iron door.

A snarl from inside made Tira jump back and ready her blade. What looked like a bear barreled through the doorway, growling and roaring as it attacked. Tamlen, thinking quickly, nocked an arrow and shot it into the beast's eye. The twisted creature reared up, snarling in pain. Tira took her opportunity, slashing twice with her sword before plunging it hilt deep into the beast's chest. With a last growl, the creature slumped over as Tira pulled her Dar Missan from its flesh.

"By the creators! What was that thing?!" Tamlen demanded.

Tira panted. "I don't know… I'm not sure I want to…"

"Look at that!" Tamlen gestured to a large mirror toward the back of the room. "It's beautiful, isn't it? I wonder what the writing says."

"'Do not touch the glass?'" Tira joked.

"Not that we'd leave a finger print on it. See how clean it is? Not a single smudge or crack. I wonder what the writing is for. Maybe this isn't.. hey did you see that?" Tamlen pointed to a ripple on the surface of the glass.

"Get away from it Tamlen," Tira murmured.

"Hold on, I just want to know what it is. Don't you see it? There it is again. Can you feel that? I think it knows we're here. I just need to take a closer look."

Despite Tira's protests, Tamlen approached the mirror.

"It's showing me places. A city! Underground…" Another ripple emerged on the surface.

"It saw me!" Tamlen cried. "Help! I can't look away!"

Before Tira could move to assist her clansman, a blinding light lit the chamber and Tira knew no more.

Tira woke suddenly, reaching wildly for her blades, but they were not in their sheathes. As her heart slowed, she realized she was in the Keeper's aravel, wrapped in furs.

"You're awake!" came a voice from the opening.

Fenarel, an old friend of Tamlen's, had poked his head inside.

"You've the gods own luck lethallan. You're back at the camp. Everyone is worried sick about you. How do you feel?"

"Tired… how did I get back here, Fenarel?"

"A shem brought you back two days ago. You don't remember him?"

"I don't remember anything… I was in a cave, then… nothing."

"He was a Grey Warden and appeared out of nowhere with you slung over his shoulder. You were delirious with fever. He said he found you outside a cave in the forest, unconscious and alone. He left you here and ran off again. The Keeper's been using the old magic to heal you."

"Is anyone looking for Tamlen?" Tira asked worried. _Two days…?_

"Of course!" Fenarel exclaimed. "Most of the hunters are off looking for him right now. But the Keeper wanted to talk to you as soon as you awoke. Stay here. I'll get her."

Tira sat down, her head falling into her hands. She had lost two days? I_ knew we should have come straight back here… and now Tamlen's missing… damnit, what do I do now?_

"I see you are awake, da'len." Tira looked up to see Keeper Marethari striding towards her. "It is fortunate Duncan found you when he did. I know not what dark power held you, but it nearly bled the life from you. It was difficult for even my magic to keep you alive."

"Then Tamlen could be sick, as well?" Tira asked, standing immediately.

"If he encountered the same thing you did, yes. The Grey Warden said he found you alone outside a cave, already stricken. Duncan thought there might be darkspawn creatures inside the cave. Is that true?"

"I'm… not sure…" Tira muttered. "What does a darkspawn look like?"

"Like a man but dark and tainted with evil. Perhaps you fought one in the cave and it wounded you."

Tira shook her head. "There were many monsters; giant spiders, a twisted looking bear and dead men that walked but nothing like you describe."

"Walking corpses? Dark magic, but not darkspawn. The giant spiders are unusual but not unheard of. I know not what the bear creature might have been… What else did you find? What is the last thing you remember?"

"A mirror… Tamlen touched it…"

"A mirror? And it caused all this? I have never heard of such a thing in all the lore we have collected," Keeper Marethari sighed wearily. "I was hoping for answers when you woke, but there are only more questions. Do you feel well enough to show us the way da'len? Without you we will not find it."

"I am up to it, Keeper. I feel fine."

"I am relieved to hear it," Marethari smiled. "I am ordering the clan to pack the camp so we can go north. Take Merrill with you to the cave. Find Tamlen if you can, but do it quickly."

"Keeper!" Fenarel came trotting up. "I wish to go with Tira if you're sending her to find Tamlen."

"Fenarel, are you certain? I am already risking Merrill; I do not what to lose you as well."

"I want to help, Keeper," Fenarel insisted. "If we can find Tamlen, it's worth the risk."

"Very well, then," Marethari relented. "You have my permission. And thank you for asking for it."

Tira and Fenarel nodded, heading towards the edge of the camp. "So you have returned to us, da'len," a wizened voice called from near the fire.

It was Hahren Paivel.

"We are grateful you are whole and well."

"I'm glad to be here, as well, Hahren," Tira told him, bracing for the scolding she knew she would receive.

She wasn't disappointed.

"So you should be! What were you two thinking, wandering into that cave without first coming to tell the Keeper?"

"You're right, Hahren," Tira mumbled, feeling much like the chastised little girl.

"I suppose your youth can be forgiven," Paivel sighed. "Sadly, Tamlen pays the price. Loosing you would be a terrible crime, da'len. You belong to more than just yourself. Or do you not remember?"

"I'm sorry, Hahren…"

"Would you even know the reason behind your efforts, I wonder?"

Tira and the elder told a group of children the story of the Dales and spoke for a bit longer before Tira and Fenarel left to find Merrill. The slender young mage was waiting near her aravel, looking anxious. Tira had grown up with Merrill after she had arrived at the clan at a young age. Being the Keeper's First, she had been a bit secluded from the other children but Tira had made an effort to make friends with the shy mage.

"Oh, Tira, there you are!" Merrill smiled. "I was worried about you. The Keeper told me to accompany you back to those caves. I may see something you missed. Not that you're incapable of spotting what I can, it's just… another set of eyes may help… you know, just in case… I'll stop rambling now…"

"It's all right, Merrill," Tira giggled. "I'm glad to have you along. We have to find Tamlen. And Fenarel wants to join us."

Merrill suddenly looked worried. "Oh… the Keeper told me we were to go alone. I really don't wish to make her angry. She has that disappointed frown that turns my bones to jelly…"

"I've already okay-ed it with the Keeper, Merrill. Don't worry."

Merrill brightened. "Alright, then, let's get going!"

The trio headed into the forest. "How much has the Keeper told you?" Fenarel asked.

"Enough to pique my interest… and my concern," Merrill mumbled. "You can explain the rest on the way, yes?"

"What were those things?" Merrill squeaked as Tira and Fenarel lowered their bows. A pair of squat, ghoulish creatures had attacked the group not far from the camp. "Were those darkspawn?"

"That would make sense…" Tira muttered.

"I… I've never seen anything like them!" Merrill fretted. "You can smell the evil on them. Where did they come from? Were they here before?"

"Maybe the mirror has something to do with it."

"What would darkspawn have to do with the elvhen? The stories say Arlathan fell long before the darkspawn appeared. Oh, I hope we find out soon. I pray we don't find any more of those monsters…" Merrill was drawn from her monologue when she spied Tira. "Are you alright, lethallan? Were you hurt during the fight?"

Tira cocked her head in confusion. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"You do look quite pale now that Merrill's mentioned it," Fenarel agreed.

"I'm sure it's just the exertion," Tira told them.

"Well, I'll keep an eye on you," Merrill assured Tira. "You've only just recovered from your illness."

Not far down the path, the trio of elves found the remains of a campfire.

"I wonder whose camp this is…" Fenarel knelt next to the pit. "Do you remember it being here?"

"No, this wasn't here before. It's fresh," Tira scrapped some of the charred residue from the rocks.

"That Grey Warden said he was returning to the cave. Perhaps this is his camp."

"If so..." Merrill scratched her head. "He's not here now. And we've seen no sign of Tamlen. Perhaps we should… wait… do you hear that?"

Tira blinked and concentrated. "No forest creatures… it's too quiet…"

"Yes! The forest is too still. Something's in the air… something… not right…"

"Tamlen said he felt the same thing in the cave."

"And now it's affecting the forest? Maybe that mirror unleashed some kind of sickness. That would not be good."

"That's an understatement," Fenarel snorted.

"The sooner we find this cave, and Tamlen, the sooner we can leave," Merrill shivered. "Lethallan, we must move quickly,"

Tira quickly led her companions deeper into the forest, soon finding the entrance to the ruins. Tira readied her bow, unsure as to what had entered the past three days.

"So, these are the ruins? Amazing…" Merrill breathed. She shook herself briefly. "We must find Tamlen before I allow my mind to wander. Though… judging by those darkspawn creatures…. Could he have really survived here? I mean he could be…"

"Don't talk like that!" Tira cried. "We don't know…"

"You are right. I'm sorry…"

Tira sighed and led the group deeper into the cavern. A small handful of darkspawn attacked before they found the room containing the mirror. A tall, black haired human stood in the center of the chamber, his hand running through his beard thoughtfully as he examined the artifact in front of him. He turned when he heard the door open.

"So you were the one fighting darkspawn. I thought I heard combat," his dark brown eyes found Tira. "You're the elf I found wandering the forest, aren't you? I'm surprised you have recovered."

Tira snorted, not in the mood to bandy words. "If you heard the fighting, why didn't you help?"

"I would have, had I not been battling them myself. Not all the kills here were yours as you can see. My name is Duncan, and it's a pleasure to finally meet you. The last time we spoke, you were barely conscious."

"Andaran atish'an, Duncan," Merrill spoke nervously. "I am Merrill, Keeper Marethari's First."

"I am Tira."

"And I am Fenarel. Did you… come here alone, human? Battling all those creatures?"

"Not alone," Duncan told him. "A pair of my newest recruits are clearing the rest of the ruin. I'm a little surprised you didn't meet them on your way in."

The door creaked open a second time, letting a pair of elves through. The first was male and tall for an elf, with muddy brown hair and a set of mage robes. The second was female, with ash blonde hair and wearing a set of simple studded leather armor. "Oh, there you are Duncan," the female spoke.

"Great," the male muttered. "Dalish."

Tira frowned at the disparaging tone the mage took. "We're looking for our brother, Tamlen," she told the mage and Duncan.

"You and Tamlen both entered this cave?" Duncan asked, shooting the mage a reproachful look. "And you saw this mirror?"

"Yes, Tamlen touched the mirror and I blacked out."

"Foolish…" the mage grumbled, earning an elbow to the ribs from his companion.

"I see," Duncan sighed. "That is unfortunate. "The Grey Wardens have seen artifacts like this mirror before; it is Tevinter in origin, used for communication."

"The concept was originally elvish," the mage corrected. "If I remember correctly, they are called Eluvian. The Tevinters merely used them after the fall of Arlathan."

"Over time, some of them simply… break," Duncan continued. "They become filled with the same taint as the darkspawn. Tamlen's touch must have released it… it is what made you sick and Tamlen, too, I presume."

"We need to take it back to the Keeper," Tira insisted.

"The darkspawn are drawn to the mirror. Do you want to lead them to your clan?" Duncan asked, frowning.

"I do not fear this sickness," Merrill told him. "The Keeper knows how to cure it."

"She may have weakened it, but she cannot cure it," Duncan told the mage before turning back to Tira. "Your recovery is only temporary. I can sense the sickness in you, and it is spreading. Look inside yourself and you will see."

"Perhaps there is… something to what you say…" Tira muttered.

"Confirm it with your Keeper later if you like. For now, we must deal with the mirror. It is a danger." Duncan approached the mirror, drawing his longsword. With a single swing, the glass shattered, letting out a burst of light. When the glare cleared, Duncan returned to the group. "It is done. Now, let us leave this cursed place. I must speak with the Keeper immediately regarding your cure."

"What about Tamlen?" Fenarel demanded.

"There is nothing we can do," Duncan told him solemnly.

"I'm not leaving until I find him!" Tira snapped.

"Let me be very clear: there is _nothing_ you can do for him," Duncan returned firmly. "He's been tainted for three days now, unaided. Through your Keeper's healing arts and your own willpower, you did not die. But Tamlen has no chance. Trust me when I say that he is gone. Now, we should return."

If there was one thing Tira was known for, it was how loyal she was to her friends and how stubborn she could be about them. "Won't there at least be a body?"

"The darkspawn would have taken it."

"Why would they take his body?" Fenarel asked. "Not to eat it… I hope…"

"Darkspawn are evil creatures and it's best to leave it at that I'm… sorry."

"Can we just leave the cave like this?" Tira asked. "Is it safe?"

"With the mirror destroyed, I doubt the darkspawn will return."

"Can we return later and search the ruins?" Merrill asked. "There could be many things we can learn and find, besides the mirror."

"The cave is not safe. Everything here was exposed to the mirror's taint. If your people must come here, they should cleanse it with fire."

Tira crossed her arms. "Why not just tell me what the cure is?"

"It is not that simple. I would tell you more, but I must speak first with your Keeper."

Tira sighed angrily. "Fine. Let's get back to the camp…"

"I am relieved you have returned," Marethari smiled as Tira and her group approached her aravel. "And I did not expect to see you again so soon, Duncan."

"I was not expecting to return so soon either, Keeper," Duncan rumbled.

"Dare I ask of Tamlen? What did you find of him?"

"The Warden says we will find nothing," Tira told her bitterly.

"I see. Merrill, what about the mirror? Did you bring anything back?"

"I can answer that, Keeper," Duncan spoke up. "I destroyed the mirror."

Tira, Fenarel, Merrill, even the pair of elves following Duncan cringed when Marethari frowned at the Grey Warden. "I intended to use it to find a cure for this mysterious illness. I trust you had good reasons for your actions?"

"There is much to discuss, Keeper," Duncan assured her. "I have learned a great deal since I was last here."

"Let us speak privately in my aravel then, Duncan. Merrill, warn the hunters. If darkspawn are about, I want the clan prepared."

"Ma nuvenin, Keeper," Merrill squeaked, still alarmed from Marethari's glare. "Right away."

With that, the clan's First scurried away.

"Tira, allow me some time to speak with Duncan. Seek us out at your aravel later, and we can discuss your cure."

"Very well, Keeper…" Tira grimaced.

The more she heard about this cure, the more it unsettled her. Why not just tell her? Could the process truly be that bad?

"Tell Hahren Paivel what has occurred. He now has the sad task of preparing a service for the dead. Follow me, Duncan. I am eager to hear what you have to say."

Tira turned to make her way towards the fire, not surprised when Fenarel and Duncan's recruits followed.

"I wish we could have found Tamlen," Fenarel murmured. "If those creatures… oh, I can't bear to think about that. What do you think the Grey Warden won't tell you about this cure? It seems rather cruel to withhold it."

"It must be something terrible…" Tira pondered.

"Keeper Marethari won't let him keep it from you. I say we get your cure, move the clan north, and put all this behind us."

Tira nodded as they came to Hahren Paivel. Fenarel wandered off, no doubt looking for something to take his mind off the events of the day.

"So you return with the Grey Warden but not Tamlen," Paivel rumbled. "What happened, da'len? Is he truly lost to us?"

Tira's head drooped as the tears she had been fighting since they left the cave finally burst out.

"It's my fault," she whispered. "I failed the clan."

Paivel came forward and placed his hands on Tira's shaking shoulders. "You've done nothing of the sort, da'len. Do not blame yourself. It seems the will of the Creators that I sing the dirge for those I held in my arms as babes. I think I know why out immortal ancestors would sleep," Paivel embraced the distraught hunter before turning to the fire.

"_Swiftly do stars burn a path across the sky_

_Hastening to place one last kiss upon your eye_

_Tenderly land enfolds you in slumber_

_Softening the rolling thunder_

_Dagger now sheathed, bow no longer tense_

_During this, your last hour, only silence."_

"Will you… prepare a service for Tamlen, please?" Tira asked, wiping her tears away, as Paivel finished the poem.

"Of course. We've no body to return to the soil, but we shall still sing for Tamlen. The Creators must come to guide him to the Beyond. Tell the Keeper it shall be done before the clan is ready to move on."

"Thank you, Hahren. I should go."

"May the gods guide your path, da'len."

Tira smiled sadly as she headed towards the main part of the camp.

"I… I'm sorry about your friend," the female recruit spoke.

"Thank you…" Tira muttered.

"I'm Blair Tabris," the elf said. "And the sourpuss with me is Tristan Surana." The mage snorted.

"A pleasure to meet you both. I wish it were under better circumstances."

"As do I. I… I think I found something you should see," Blair pulled an amulet from a pouch on her belt. "I found it in the ruins. Duncan had me cleanse it over the campfire last night, so it's perfectly safe."

Tira took it. "This is… Tamlen's amulet… you said you found this in the ruins? Where?"

"Near the entrance. I noticed you have a similar amulet so I thought… this one might mean something to you,"

"Thank you," Tira breathed. "I'll… have to give it to Hahren Paivel before the funeral…"

Blair nodded and stepped back as the trio arrived at Tira's aravel. Duncan and the Keeper waited outside.

"Your Keeper and I have spoken and we've come to an arrangement that concerns you," Duncan announced. "My order is in need of help. You are in need of a cure. When Blair, Tristan and I leave, I hope you will join us. You would make an excellent Grey Warden."

"I can't just leave my clan," Tira protested.

"And we would not send you away," Marethari assured her. "But there is more at stake."

"The darkspawn taint courses through your veins," Duncan told Tira. "That you recovered at all is remarkable. But eventually, the taint will sicken and kill you, or worse. The Grey Wardens can prevent that, but it means joining us."

"I won't join out of pity," Tira growled.

"This is not simply charity on my part. I would not offer this if I did not think you had the makings of a Grey Warden. Let me be clear: You will likely never return here. We go to fight the darkspawn, a battle that will take us far from your clan. But we need you and others like you."

"Is… is the clan sending me away?" Tira asked the Keeper.

"A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south," Marethari told her. "A new Blight threatens the land. We cannot outrun this storm. Long ago, the Dalish agreed to aid the Grey Wardens against a Blight, should that day arrive. We must honor that agreement." Tears began to threaten in Marethari's eyes. "It breaks my heart to send you away. As it would to watch you die slowly from this sickness. This is your duty, and your salvation."

"This all I've ever known!" Tira cried. "This is my home!"

"A home that the darkspawn may tear apart," Duncan told her bluntly. "This way, you can find a cure and protect your clan. Have courage."

Marethari continued before Tira could snap at Duncan. "I cannot express my sadness at sending one of our daughters off into such danger, away from the clan that loves her. But if this is what the Creators intend for you, da'len, meet your destiny with your head held high. No matter where you go, you are Dalish. Never forget that."

Tira ducked her head to hide her tears. "If this is my duty," she whispered. "Then I will go."

"I welcome you to the order," Duncan told the sick hunter. "It is rare to have a Dalish amongst us, but they have always served with distinction."

Blair grimaced. The welcome was undoubtedly making Tira feel worse. Especially after how bluntly he'd described the death of her clan.

"I know you'll do your clan proud, da'len. Take this ring," Marethari pressed the carved willow onto Tira's middle finger. "It is your heritage and will protect you from the darkness to come."

"A valuable gift. So… are you ready to go?" Duncan asked.

"I would like to stay for Tamlen's funeral," Tira told him, fingering the ring Marethari had given her.

"We have much ground to cover, but I cannot deny you that. Say your farewells… then we must be off."

"Come then, da'len," Marethari beckoned. "Before the Creators guide you from us, let your clan embrace you one last time."

Tamlen's funeral was very hard for Tira. Being a woman who shed no tears during her vallaslin writing, many of the clan were almost alarmed to see her sobbing silently as Hahren Paivel gave Tamlen's eulogy.

After the songs were sung and Tamlen's amulet buried, the clan gathered around their departing sister. Ashalle, the woman who practically raised Tira, embraced her before slipping a necklace over her head.

"This was your mother's, da'len. I know she'd want you to have it."

"Thank you," Tira mumbled, hugging her guardian.

Ashalle had told her the story of her family earlier that evening. It was a sad tale, but Tira was glad she had heard it.

Merrill came forward next. The young mage looked absolutely miserable.

"I'm going to miss you," Merrill mumbled.

Tira pulled her into an embrace. "And I you, lethallan. But I need you to be strong. The clan needs everyone right now."

Merrill nodded sadly. "Will… will I ever see you again?"

"Of course. I refuse to let this be goodbye forever."

Merrill smiled and pulled Tira in tighter. "Until we meet again, lethallan."

"Until we meet again."

_AN: Well, there's the last Origin Chapter. Let me know what you guys think about my first story on Fanfic._

_Yes, i took Merrill's character from Dragon Age II. Why? She's a lot more interesting there. XD If you don't like Merrill, keep it to yourself. I've heard and seen it all._


	7. Exodus

Chapter 7 Exodus

Conrí spurred his horse, urging the stallion to run faster across the plane, what remained of his family and his new recruits nipping at his heels. The group had been riding through the night to escape Howe and his men.

"Brother!" Erin groaned. "I think we've put enough distance between Howe and us."

Conrí slowed his black steed to a stop. "Aye…" he dismounted from his winded horse and began pulling supplies from its back. "Here," he dropped a few bedrolls near Erin's horse. "Get a fire going. I'll see about getting us a meal. Koun," Conrí looked to his faithful war hound. The poor dog had flopped down and was panting in the grass but when his master called his name, Koun had dutifully raised his head. Conrí sighed. "Stay here, old boy, and rest. You've earned it." Koun huffed and began lapping up the water Erin had placed in front of him.

"Uh, boss?" Garik called. He was still on the back of his and Erin's horse. "How-how do I get down?"

Serena sighed. "Do what I do, Duster," she said as she demonstrated. "Swing your right leg over to the left side so you're sitting like this," Serena had both legs dangling off the left side of the bay mare she had been riding. "And just slide off," with a clank of metal, her armored feet landed on the soft grass.

Garik nodded uncertainly and did as Serena had showed him. When his feet hit the ground, Garik groaned and immediately cupped his groin. When the pain wasn't quite as blinding, he stumbled off. "Hold on while I find my balls for the Ancestors' sakes…."

Conrí shook his head and grabbed his bow. "I'll be back in a bit. I'm going to see if I can catch us anything to eat. Try not to kill each other while I'm gone."

After Conrí left, Erin, Serena and Garik started setting up camp. With no tents, they would have to make do with bedrolls. Serena and Garik looked up at the dark sky, a little more comfortable at night than during the day. They could convince themselves they were just in a giant cavern, at least enough to sleep without nightmares.

Conrí returned about an hour later with a buck slung over his shoulder and dragging a wild pig. Both had already been bled so Erin and Oriana set to work carving both, stripping their hides for sale to a tanner, if at all possible.

"I think we can get a few pounds of jerky out of these," Erin theorized.

Conrí nodded. "Do it. I'll get a stew started. I found some herbs while hunting so it will have some flavor at least."

Erin and Oriana carved what they hadn't put aside for jerky, placed the meat in a large shallow dish and braised it before dropping the cooked meat into the stew pot. Garik and Conrí sat around the fire, grumbling hungrily even as the women scolded them to sit still and act like men rather than boys. Of course this made them grumble all the more.

Dinner was cooked and consumed, with Conrí surprising the group with the amount he ate. "It's a Grey Warden thing," he said, slightly embarrassed. "We have a hell of an appetite." After the dishes were cleaned in a nearby river, Erin and Oriana went about smoking the remaining meat for jerky over a separate flame. Once everyone had settled back around the fire, silence filled the air. After several minutes, Conrí drew his belt knife. After gazing at his reflection in the blade for a long moment, he reached up and grabbed his long braid, running the sharp metal through it near the base of the tail. He left it just long enough to be pulled back but allowed it to fall around his face. Still gripping his severed hair, he handed the blade to Erin, who repeated his actions. The pair went silently to the river and dropped their cut hair into the river, watching as it drifted downstream.

Garik raised an eyebrow as the twins returned to the fireside. "Um… don't mean to pry but what the sod was that?" he asked as Conrí flipped a few of the logs with a thick stick.

"An old Alamarri custom," Oriana told him, running her fingers through Oren's hair as the young boy slept with his head on her thigh. "When a warrior would fail a superior in battle, he would cut his hair shorter, acknowledging his failure."

"It's fitting," Conrí grumbled.

"I fail to see how what happened at Highever was in any way your fault," Serena pointed out from her sharpening of her axe. Conrí had given her the weapon when they arrived on the surface. The design, he said, was made famous by the Ash Warriors.

"I couldn't protect my parents. As the eldest child in the castle it was my duty to fight…" Conrí clenched his fist, the steel of his gauntlet protesting ".…and I ran like a coward."

"Howe's men would have killed us all if we had stayed," Oriana told him. "You know this. Because we still breathe, we can tell the king of the Arl's treachery. We couldn't save everyone, but we can avenge them, little brother."

Conrí sighed and tossed the stick he was holding into the fire. "I'll take first watch. The rest of you, get some sleep. I'll wake Serena for second watch and Garik will take last. We leave at first light. If we're lucky, we'll make it to Lothering by nightfall the day after tomorrow."

The group bedded down for the night and continued on in the morning. Garik had been assigned to ride behind Serena on her horse. "I warn you, Brosca," Serena grumbled as Garik rested his hands on her waist. "If your hands start straying, I will knock you off and leave you there."

"My lady, I am a gentleman," Garik protested in his best imitation of a noble. "I would never dream of doing anything untoward to one such as you."

"Uh huh."

"Well, I would dream, but my self-preservation instinct is too great to actually do it." Serena sighed in exasperation as Garik chuckled.

They came across a caravan headed to Lothering and agreed to escort the driver in exchange for allowing Oriana and Oren to ride in the back. The driver seemed a mite intimidated by the group, especially when Conrí told him they were Wardens and Warden recruits. Conrí felt it best not to tell this stranger who Erin, Oriana and Oren were just in case the man was in Howe's employ.

Their luck turned out to be greater than they realized. It was mid afternoon on the third day when Lothering came into sight. The travelers let their horses rest for the night and went about trading for supplies. The hides they had gotten from the deer and boar had fetched a decent price, enough to buy extra food for the trip to Ostagar. Conrí was just finishing his dealings with a food merchant when he spied a familiar face approaching the town's main thoroughfare.

"Duncan!" he greeted with a raised hand.

"Warden-Lieutenant," Duncan nodded. "You are early. I expected you to have more trouble in Orzammar."

"We managed to clear out the old Aeducan Thaig, and I have two new recruits," Conrí told him. "Aeducan, Brosca, front and center." The dwarves approached Conrí and Duncan. "Serena Aeducan, Garik Brosca, this is Warden-Commander Duncan. Duncan, this is Serena and Garik."

"Did you say Aeducan?" Duncan asked, his brow furrowed. "Conrí I told you to avoid recruiting too close to the royal line."

"I wasn't recruited in the common meaning of the word," Serena told him. "I was betrayed by my brother Bhelen and sent to walk the Deep Roads. I managed to come across Conrí and the Wardens with him and agreed to join."

"Hm. We shall see if your skill in battle is enough to warrant my lieutenant's favor," Duncan told her. "Joining the Wardens is not simple charity,"

"Oh, please, Duncan," Conrí scoffed. "If recruiting Ser Jory wasn't charity, than you need to get your head checked out. He has some skill with a blade, true, but he's a bloody coward. When I left, he was whining about having to go through more tests."

"He won the-"

"The grand melee in Redcliffe, I know. What you forget to mention was I trounced him at seventeen," Conrí interrupted. "Look, I'm not going to argue with you about that sorry excuse for a knight. Serena survived alone in the Deep for hours, picking up scraps of armor on the way. If that doesn't qualify as Warden material, I don't know what is. Brosca won a glory Proving in the Warden's honor, beating the best the Warrior Caste had to offer. The dwarves will never admit it, though, seeing as he's casteless."

"It's true," Serena agreed. "Orzammar was in an uproar for days that a casteless had 'befouled' a Proving."

"Thanks, Princess, tell me how you really feel," Garik muttered.

"We stopped at Highever before turning south but things…" Serena looked towards Conrí, who had dropped his gaze and was clenching his fist again. "Did not go as planned."

"Arl Howe sacked Highever Castle," Erin told Duncan, resting her hand on her brother's shoulder. "Our parents are dead."

Duncan sighed. "You have my condolences. Unfortunately, the Blight calls us to Ostagar. Will your group be prepared to make the journey tomorrow?"

"Bright and early," Conrí said dully. "My sister-in-law and nephew are staying here in Lothering until the battle is over. Erin, could you get us some rooms at the tavern?"

"Of course," Erin nodded and made her way towards Dane's Refuge.

"You brought your sister?" Duncan asked.

"Don't even think about it, Duncan," Conrí growled, anger in his eye. "You gave your word, and I intend to see you keep it. Erin is not one of my recruits. Odds are my choice is dead in Highever."

"We need every Warden we can find," Duncan told him.

"No," Conrí snapped. "You swore, and I swore to my father that I would be the only Cousland to join the Wardens. It's staying that way. End of discussion and if the words Right of Conscription come out of your mouth, I swear by all that is holy, I will break your jaw."

"So the Grey Wardens can threaten their superiors," came a snide voice. Three elves had followed Duncan, two female and one male. The young man had spoken. "Good to know."

"I'm sorry. Who the Void are you?" Conrí asked, not exactly in the mood to be civil.

"Tristan Surana of the Circle, Tira Mahariel of the Sabrae clan and Blair Tabris of Denerim," Duncan gestured to each elf in turn. "This is your Warden-Lieutenant Conrí Cousland. He answers only to the Senior Wardens and myself. You three, I shall get us some rooms at the tavern as well. Meet me there once you have you supplies." With that, Duncan followed Erin towards the inn.

"Cousland?" Blair asked. "As in the Couslands of Highever?"

Conrí nodded. "Aye. My father was the Teyrn, Bryce Cousland."

"Wonderful," Tristan sneered. "A noble brat. What's next, a dwarven Princess to go along with the stuck up shem and the haughty Dalish." This earned a glare from Blair, Tira and Conrí.

Serena crossed her arms. "Serena Aeducan, second child of King Endrin of Orzammar. So, yeah, you do get a dwarven princess."

Tristan scowled and strode towards the merchants. "Sorry about him," Blair told Serena and Conrí. "He's been unbearable since Tira joined us."

"He keeps it up and he's not gonna be able to talk after I feed him his teeth," Serena grumbled. "Are all mages as belligerent as him?"

"No, my Keeper, Marethari was always very civil even with shem… sorry, humans," Tira said haltingly.

"Yes, that's one thing I'm not going to deal with. No racial slurs," Conrí told the remaining recruits. "No Shemlen, shem, knife-ear, flat-ear, short-mouth. None of any of that. Clear?" the recruits nodded. "Good. And despite what sparkle-fingers over there thinks," Conrí added, gesturing to Tristan as he bartered with a merchant. "I'm not a lord anymore. So none of this 'milord' nonsense. Couldn't stand it when I was a possible heir and I can't stand it now."

Both Tira and Blair seemed surprised. They had never met a human noble, at least one that didn't feel entitled to the world. Blair shuddered as she remember what that bastard Vaughn had done to Shianni.

"So, Blair right?" Conrí continued, his attention falling on the shorter elf. She nodded. "Duncan said you were from Denerim. How did he come to recruit you?"

"I killed a noble who raped my cousin," Blair told him bluntly.

Conrí's eyes widened for a moment before he sighed. "Vaughn, Arl Urien's son?"

"You knew him?" Blair asked, readying herself for a fight.

"Only through my brother Fergus. Vaughn and Fergus were best friends once upon a time. But when Fergus decided to marry Oriana, Vaughn insulted her and Fergus broke his jaw. I can't say Vaughn didn't have it coming if half the rumors were true. Whether you meant to or not, you've done Fereldan a favor. And with Arl Urien dead at Ostagar, you don't have to worry about reprisals." Blair blinked in surprise, expecting a tirade about killing Vaughn. Who on earth was this human? "So, Tira, how did Duncan rope you into joining our merry band of misfits?"

Tira explained her story as the group made their way to the inn. "You have my condolences, Tira. I know what it feels like to lose a friend," Conrí told her. "Unfortunately, Duncan was right. After three days with no treatment… well, death would be a release."

"That… isn't what I wanted to hear," Tira mumbled.

"I know," Conrí nodded, patting Tira gruffly on the shoulder.

They entered the inn, followed not long after by Tristan, his arm laden with extra food. The recruits were divided up into several rooms to sleep for the night. The next morning, Duncan had found a few extra horses and the Wardens prepared to leave. Oriana came forward leading a sleepy Oren to say goodbye. "Be careful, you two. And send Fergus our love."

"We will," Erin smiled.

"Bye, Uncle. Bye, Auntie," Oren called drowsily.

"Wait!" a voice called from the Chantry courtyard. A young red-haired lay sister trotted towards the group with a large basket in her arms. Despite everything going through his head lately, Conrí couldn't help but notice how pretty she was. "Here, take this," she said handing Conrí the basket. "The Chantry doesn't have much, but I had the cooks bake up some bread and biscuits for your trip. I thought a group of Grey Wardens could always do with a little extra strength."

"Thank you miss….?" Conrí questioned as he passed the basket to Erin.

"Leliana. My name is Leliana."

"The Tevinter Imperium built Ostagar long ago to prevent the Wilders from invading the northern lowlands," Conrí explained to the recruits as the group made their way towards the base camp for the Fereldan army. They had left their horses at the makeshift stable near the Tower of Ishal.

"It's fitting we make our stand here, even if we face a very different foe within that forest," Duncan went on. "The king's forces have clashed with the darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself. There are only a few Grey Wardens in Fereldan at the moment, but all of us are now here."

"This Blight must be stopped, here and now," Conrí rumbled. "If it spreads to the north… Fereldan may fall."

"Ho there, Duncan," a tall, blonde haired man approached the group and gripped forearms with Duncan.

"King Cailan? I didn't expect a…"

"A royal welcome?" King Cailan smiled roguishly. "I was beginning to think you would miss all the fun."

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty," Duncan told him humbly.

"Then I shall have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all. Glorious!" Cailan smiled. "The other Wardens tell me you and your Lieutenant have found some promising recruits. I take it this is them?"

"Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty."

"There's no need to be so formal, Duncan," Cailan admonished the elder Warden. "We'll be shedding blood together after all. Ho there, friends, might I know your names?"

"I am Tristan Surana, your Majesty," Tristan bowed. While he was mostly belligerent, Tristan knew when to be courteous.

"Pleased to meet you, and all of you as well," Cailan smiled at the newest Warden recruits. "The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I, for one, am glad to help them. I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi, Tristan. I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?"

Tristan smirked and let hoarfrost spread over his hand as he lifted it to show the king. "I may have a trick or two up my sleeve."

"Excellent. We have too few mages here, another is always welcome. And you, my lady?" Calian moved to stand in front of Tira.

"I am Tira Mahariel," Tira said, inclining her head.

"You are Dalish are you not? I hear your people possess remarkable skill and honor."

Tira frowned slightly. "I thought humans considered us dangerous vagrants."

Cailan looked a mite uncomfortable. It was obvious he wished to avoid offending the woman. "To be fair, your people can be a bit… standoffish. Not that I blame them, of course. And if half the stories of the Dalish skill with a bow are true, you will be a great help. You are most welcome here, my lady." Tira nodded with a small smile to show Cailan had done no lasting harm. "Might I know your name, my friend?" Cailan's attention had turned to Blair.

"Blair Tabris, your Majesty."

"By your armor and weapons, I would guess you hail from a city or village, no?"

"I'm from Denerim, actually," Blair told him.

"As am I! Though I've not been in the palace for some time. Do you come from the Alienage?" Blair nodded. "Tell me, how is it there? My guards all but forbid me going there."

Blair sighed. "I killed an Arl's son for raping my cousin."

Cailan blinked in alarm. "You… what?"

"Your Majesty, I would not have put it so bluntly. There are events in Denerim you should be aware of."

"So it seems. I take it Vaughn Kendells was the perpetrator?"

"Yes, your Majesty," Blair told him, her fingers twitching as she remembered her daggers slicing through Vaughn's neck.

"That little troll… I knew he would end up with such a fate… I believe this is what the Antivans refer to as beautiful irony. And a pair of Orzammar's finest. Might I know your names?"

"I am Serena Aeducan, your Majesty.

"Garik Brosca. Good to meet'cha!" Serena flicked Garik in the ear. "OW! What was that for?!"

"Be respectful, Brand," Serena hissed.

Cailan chuckled. "It is good to see a few of the honorable stout folk outside Orzammar."

"You must not have met many of the noble caste," Serena chuckled.

"Sounds like there's a story behind that. You must regale me with it sometime."

"If your Majesty wishes."

"I do. I'll make sure to have the finest dwarven brew brought up from the palace cellars. After we've dealt with the Blight, of course."

"To be completely honest, your Majesty, I think we'd all prefer a surface ale. It is much more pleasant to the taste and less likely to poison a body." Cailan smiled, his relief apparent. _Must've had an ill encounter with lichen ale,_ Serena thought.

"I've been to Orzammar. King Endrin invited my father to a Grand Proving, long ago. How does Endrin fare these days?"

"I'm his daughter," Serena told him. "And he was fine when I saw him last."

"Well… it seems your story may be even more interesting than I suspected."

"You have no idea, Majesty," Garik grimaced slightly.

"Erin?" Cailan asked as he came to the bowing Cousland. "I must say I'm surprised to see you here. A pleasure as always."

"You're too kind, your Majesty," Erin smiled warmly as she rose.

"Bah, dispense with the formalities, my dear," Cailan told her as he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "They have no place between old friends. You are joining the Wardens as well?"

"Not at the moment, Cailan. I believe the Wardens have all the Cousland they can handle with my dear brother."

"Speaking of which…" Cailan trailed off as he approached Conrí with a unhappy smirk. "Well, well, well. So, the infamous Warden-Lieutenant Conrí Cousland finally decides to drag his arse back to Ostagar. I am most disappointed in you, Warden. You've kept me waiting for some time. Sampling the wine, women and song on your travels, eh?"

"Of course not, your Majesty. My mission took priority,"

"Ha! I've heard that story fall from your lips before. I don't buy it anymore now than I did back then."

"Well, you were only a prince back then, your Majesty. But what man would lie to his king?" Conrí raised his eyes with a wicked grin.

Cailan held for a few moments before a true smile broke over his face. "Haha! Come here, you mangy hound!" he laughed embracing Conrí as an old friend. "Well, you've finally returned," Cailan said as he broke away from Conrí. "Now I shall have one of my greatest friends at my side as we battle the scourge of Thedas. Besides Duncan and Loghain, there's no one I'd rather fight alongside of."

"You prefer two old men to me, Cailan?" Conrí asked. "I'm hurt. So very hurt."

"I'm sure. Fergus has already arrived with Highever's men but we are still waiting on your father," At the mention of his father all mirth left Conrí's eyes. "What's wrong? What has happened?"

"My mother and father are dead, Cailan. Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle. Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished."

"Oriana?" Cailan asked, horror etched into his young face as he gripped Conrí's forearm. "Oren?"

"They live, Cailan. Safe in Lothering," Conrí assured him.

Cailan sighed in relief before his expression filled with anger and disgust. "I… I can scarcely believe it. How could he think he could get away with such treachery? As soon as we are done here, I shall turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word.

"What kind of justice?" Erin asked darkly.

"He will hang!" Cailan stated empathetically. "I know that will not bring your family back, but Howe will not profit from this," his expression saddened. "No doubt you two wish to see your brother. Unfortunately he and his men are scouting in the wilds."

"I… am not eager to tell him, Cailan," Conrí mumbled. Cailan lifted his hand to Conrí's shoulder and squeezed it.

"Of that, I have no doubt. I am sorry for your loss, truly, but there is nothing more I can do at present. All I can suggest is that you vent your grief against the darkspawn for the time being."

"I intend to," Conrí growled, sounding every bit his namesake.

Cailan nodded. "I'm sorry to cut this short, my friends, but I must return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies," Cailan said, rolling his eyes at the thought.

"Your uncle sends his greetings, and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week..." Duncan began to remark, but Cailan waved his hand, dismissing the old Warden's comments with a bark of laughter.

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory! We've won three battles against these monsters, and tomorrow should be no different!"

"You sound very confident of that..." Serena remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Cailan favored her with a roguish grin and replied "Over confident, some might say. Right, Duncan?" he said, winking at the older man.

Duncan, however, did not share the king's good humor. In a solemn tone of voice, he calmly but firmly protested "Your Majesty, I am not so sure the Blight will be ended as quickly as you imagine..."

The King again brushed aside his concerns. "I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."

"Disappointed, Cailan?" Conrí asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cailan sighed. "I'd hoped for a war like in the old tales. A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do! Ah, I must go before Loghain sends out a search party," he concluded with a chagrined scowl. "Farewell, Grey Wardens," he finished with a bow. The Wardens gave full bows and Cailan departed with his honor guard, heading back across the bridge.

Once they were alone again, Duncan turned to others and said, "What the king said is true. They've won several battles against the darkspawn already."

"And yet you don't sound very reassured," Garik remarked. Duncan gave a weary nod and sighed, then motioned for Conrí, Erin and the recruits to walk with him towards the bridge. As they walked, Duncan continued talking, and everyone could hear the unease in his voice. "Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde only grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to surely outnumber us. I _know_ there is an archdemon behind this, but I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feelings."

"Why not?" Tristan asked. "He clearly holds the Grey Wardens in high regard."

"Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Warden contingent from Orlais: he believes our legend makes him invulnerable," Duncan replied. "Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can, and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay."

"A hot meal might be nice, first," Serena quipped. The biscuits and bread were hours behind them.

Duncan chuckled. "I agree. We have until nightfall to begin the ritual. Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden. The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon," Duncan turned to Tira. "The Joining is what will cure you of the suffering your tainted blood surely brings you. If it had been possible, I would have done it before now."

"Why didn't you tell me about this cure before?" Tira demanded.

"It is a secret," Duncan told her grimly. "And it is not a simple antidote. The Joining is what will make you a Grey Warden."

Tira pressed on. "Why is this ritual so secret?"

Now Duncan definitely looked unhappy as he solemnly answered. "The Joining is dangerous. I cannot say more of it, except to say that you will learn all in good time. Until then, you must trust that what is done...is necessary." This did little to allay Tira's fears, but she wisely chose not to pursue the matter. Even so, she couldn't help but feel a little uneasy at the thought of what this initiation ritual might entail.

"Are we the only recruits you have?" she enquired.

Duncan looked relieved at the change in subject as he answered. "No, there are two recruits here already. They have been waiting for us to arrive."

"Wonderful. Well, let's get this over with, then," Tristan muttered.

Duncan nodded and they continued walking towards the bridge, stopping just before it. "Feel free to explore the camp as you wish; all I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being. There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it's time to summon the other recruits." At this, he handed everyone but Erin a medallion like the one he and Conrí wore; a silver chain holding a griffon carved from pearl. "This will identify you as a member of the Grey Wardens, so all may know you are one of our number. Conrí, your hound can stay with me while I attend to some business; I must head for the valley and should be back in an hour. When I get back, you can find me at the Grey Warden tent on the other side of this bridge, if you need to."


	8. Eye of the Storm

Chapter 8 Eye of the Storm

The group split up after they crossed the bridge. Conrí had some things to deal with in the main army camp so he told the others he would find them before the Joining and headed off.

Tristan headed off towards the infirmary. While healing wasn't his strongest suit, he could knit bones and heal flesh efficiently. As he was helping a healer mend a compound fracture, he met one of the other recruits. A balding man of middle years approached as Tristan and the healer looked over the wounded man's leg. "Greetings. You must be one of the other recruits we've heard about," he said with a friendly grin.

"Yes, I am Tristan," the young elf said as he wrapped his patient's leg with a thick bandage. "Keep off it for a few hours and you should be ready when the battle begins."

"Ser Jory is my name," the warrior announced. "I hail from Redcliffe where I served as a knight under the command of Arl Eamon," Jory frowned slightly. "I was not aware elves could join the Grey Wardens. All the other Wardens are human."

Tristan snorted. "I am a mage, Knight. I assume that means I'm qualified."

"I… had heard mages joined but…" Jory stuttered. "I had not… that is…"

Tristan rolled his eyes at the knight's cowardice. "I'm not going to hurt you… without reason."

"Yes, I… I apologize. I have always found magic unnerving. I should be pleased that, in this case, it will be on our side. I suppose since you're finally here, I'd best get back to Duncan. I shall see you there." The knight all but fled the infirmary, leaving Tristan and the healer he was assisting shaking their heads.

"What do we have here?" came an unfamiliar voice from behind Tristan. An elderly woman in mage robes stood near one of the triage cots. "I heard one of the new Grey Warden recruits was from the Circle. I don't believe we've met. My name is Wynne, and I congratulate you on your Harrowing. Marvelous work, the Fade is a dangerous place."

"Yes, I know all about that," Tristan muttered, thinking back to Mouse.

"Oh-ho, you know all there is to know already, do you?" Wynne chuckled. "Irving said as much about you, Tristan Surana - remarkable self-confidence. So, a Grey Warden, fighting alongside the king. Not too shabby for someone just out of apprenticeship."

"King Cailan thinks the battle will go well," Tristan commented.

"The king must always seem confident. His behavior affects the troops' morale. He does seem to find his enthusiasm easily though. Reminds me of a puppy. And I say that with both respect and affection. He is a fine man."

While Tristan and Wynne discussed the darkspawn and their connection to the Fade, Serena and Garik sought out the quartermaster, hoping to get Serena a matching set of armor. The patchwork of metal she had scavenged in the Deep Roads was beginning to fall apart. Tira was also browsing the man's wares. "You there! Elf!" the quartermaster barked. "Where is my armor? And why are you dressed so preposterously?"

Tira turned, ready to tear into the mouthy human when a voice behind him spoke up. "She's no servant, idiot," Serena snapped as Garik helped her buckle the pauldron of her newly purchased heavy chainmail. "She's a Warden Recruit."

"She is?" the quartermaster stumbled. "I… please forgive my rudeness! There are so many elves running about, and I've been waiting for… it's simply been so hectic! I never thought…. P-please pardon my terrible manners. I am just the quarter master, a simple man, no one special…"

Tira crossed her arms. "Perhaps you should treat your servants more kindly," she said coolly.

"Y-yes, of course. You're very right. Did you… come for some supplies perhaps?"

"I need arrows. How much for twenty?"

"2 silver." Tira exchanged the two silver for her arrows in bundles of ten and slipped the projectiles into her quiver after untying them.

"Well, you're not what I thought you'd be," came a smooth voice to Tira's right. A young man, not much older than Conrí, stood leaning against one of the dilapidated pillars lining the ramp up to the infirmary.

"And what did you think I'd be?" Tira asked with a smirk.

"Not an elf. Yet here you are," the young man smiled. "The names Daveth. About bloody time you came along; I was beginning to think they'd cooked this ritual up for _our _benefit!"

"Isn't that a little paranoid?" Tira asked.

Daveth shrugged. "Depends on what kinda life you've led. Me, I'm perfectly willing to believe this 'Joining' is some kind of punishment. If you're interested, I think I found out something on it. I happened to be sneaking around camp last night, and I heard a couple of Grey Wardens talking, so I listened in for a bit. I reckon they plan to send us into the Wilds."

"Aren't there barbarians in those forests?" Tira enquired; she'd heard stories of the Chasind tribes and their plundering raids on southern Ferelden.

"Chasind barbarians, yes. Cannibals. And witches, too! And now darkspawn. My home village isn't far and I grew up on tales of the Wilds...even been in there a few times! Scary place..." he finished with a slight shudder.

"Seems like an odd place for an army to camp," Tira remarked.

"I'm told the Blight started deep in the forest, so the army's here waiting for them to come out. Dangling meat in front of the bear, so to speak."

Tira nodded at this logic; considering the preparations she'd seen being made in the valley, the king's forces were clearly intending for the darkspawn to come at them. Tira could only hope that the choice of position would give them an advantage against the horde.

"It's too secretive for me; makes my nose twitch," Daveth commented. "I suppose we'll have to wait and see...like we've got a choice!"

"I'll watch your back if you watch mine," Tira told him. It seemed like she could trust this human.

"Oh, I'll watch your back, alright," Daveth chuckled. He had a jokingly lecherous smile on his face.

"Just don't get distracted back there," Tira smirked.

"I'll try to keep my wits about me. Anyway, I expect it's time to get back to Duncan. That's where I'll be, if you need me for anything." Daveth headed off to the west of the camp, in the direction of a large blue tent marked with the griffon emblem of the Wardens.

Serena and Garik made their way to the old temple where the quartermaster had told them Alistair was headed, looking for one of the Circle Mages.

"What is it now?" asked a grumpy voice as they neared the temple. "Haven't Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?" a middle aged mage stood a few feet from an obviously uncomfortable young man in a set of worn but usable splintmail. This was obviously Alistair.

"I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage. She desires your presence," he said.

"What her Reverence 'desires' is of no concern to me!" the mage scoffed. "I am busy helping the Grey Wardens- by the kings orders, no less!"

"Should I have asked her to write a note?" Alistair quipped.

The mage's scowl only deepened and he glowered coldly at the young fellow. "Tell her I _will not_ be harassed in this manner!"

The young man's eyebrows rose and he sarcastically answered. "Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message."

"Your glibness does you no credit!"

"Oh, and here I thought we were getting along so well," the young Warden replied with a frown of sarcastic hurt. "I was going to name one of my children after you...the _grumpy_ one."

The mage threw up his hands with an annoyed snarl of exasperation and snapped, "Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must!" He turned on his heel and stormed away, forcing Garik to jump back as the mage barged past him. "Get out of my way, fool!"

The young Warden sighed and commented, "You know one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

His lopsided grin proved infectious as Garik, for the first time that day, allowed himself to smile honestly as he answered, "I know what you mean." Serena rolled her eyes with a smirk.

Their companion chuckled with a cheesy grin "It's like a party! We could all stand in a circle and hold hands…that would give the darkspawn something to think about!" His face suddenly gained a pensive look as he uncertainly asked "Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you're more mages?"

"How can dwarves be mages?" Serena asked, her eyebrow raising.

"You never know. These mages sneak up on you," the young man frowned speculatively. "Wait, I do know who you are: you're Conrí's new recruits, from Orzammar. I should have recognized you right away. I apologize."

"And how would you recognize us?" Serena enquired.

"Conrí sent word. He spoke quite highly of you" the man answered. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alistair, the new Grey Warden, though I guess you already knew that. As the junior member of the Order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."

"Pleased to meet you. I am Serena and this is Garik," At this, Alistair grimaced and slapped his own forehead as though unable to believe his own stupidity.

"Right, those were the names. Hmm. There haven't been any dwarven Grey Wardens in some time. You must know a lot about darkspawn."

"Nobody knows much about them," Garik shrugged. "You kill them."

"That's a sound policy to be sure," Alistair nodded. "But the Grey Wardens have always believed it's important to know your enemy. To know them is to know how to destroy them," Alistair shook his head as if to clear it. "Anyhow, whenever you're ready let's head back to Duncan. I imagine he's eager to get things started."

"That argument we saw," Garik started as they began walking. "What was it about?"

"With the mage? The Circle of Magi is here at the King's request, and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit: they just _love_ letting mages know how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position; I was once a Templar."

Serena and Garik exchanged a raised eyebrow. "What's a Templar?"

"You don't know? Oh, right. Orzammar. Quick version then. The Chantry tries to control mages because they're dangerous, so they keep Templars that train to hunt down and kill apostates. That's what I was being trained as when Duncan recruited me six months ago, not long after he snatched up Conrí," Alistair sighed. "I'm sure the Revered Mother meant it as an insult-sending me as her messenger-and the mage picked right up on that. I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan said we're all to co-operate and get along. _Apparently, _they didn't get the same message."

While Serena, Garik and Alistair were heading back towards the Grey Warden tent, Blair was at the kennels, looking at the dogs. "Hm… this isn't good," the Kennel Master mumbled as he looked in on a particular mabari. "I'd hate to waste such a promising member of the breed." He looked up as Blair approached. "Are you one of the new Wardens? I could use your help."

"I don't know anything about dogs," she told him.

"It's not what you know so much as what you are, really. This a mabari. Smart breed and strong. His owner died in the last battle and the poor hound swallowed darkspawn blood. I have medicine that might help, but I need him muzzled first."

"Just how smart is this dog?" Blair asked, remembering Conrí giving orders to his own Mabari.

"Centuries ago, a mage bred them to be smart and understand what they're told. They can remember and carry out complex orders. Most valuable dogs in the world. Trouble is they generally imprint on one master; re-imprinting them is very difficult. But without the medicine, re-imprinting won't be an issue. Will you help?"

"Could he be imprinted on me?"

"We can try. But first I need to muzzle and medicate him."

"Why do you think I could muzzle him?" Blair asked as she looked in on the brindle colored dog. The mabari looked very large, easily coming up to her shoulder.

"You're a Warden, or soon will be. All Wardens are immune to the darkspawn taint. The most you have to worry about is some tooth marks."

Blair sighed. "I'll give it a shot."

The Kennel Master smiled. "Go in the pen and let him smell you. We'll know right away if he'll respond. Let's hope this works. I would really hate to have to put him down."

Blair went into the kennel and the man handed her a cloth muzzle. The brindle mabari backed down from his aggressive stance. There was intelligence in his curious eyes as well as a great deal of pain. "Oh, you poor thing…" Blair scratched his ears and he rumbled appreciatively. "I'm sorry, but I have to put this on you. The big human outside has some medicine that will help with your pain. But we can't have you biting at him, you know?" the mabari whimpered but didn't challenge Blair as she slipped the cloth over his muzzle. "I'm sorry, big fellow…"

"Well done!" Blair looked up to see Conrí standing near the pen with a smile on his face.

"Aye, now I can treat the dog properly, poor fellow," the Kennel Master slipped into the pen behind Blair. "Come to think of it, are you heading into the Wilds any time soon?"

"Um… I might be….?" Blair mumbled, looking to Conrí.

"I believe the recruits are, yes," Conrí nodded.

"There's a particular herb I could use to improve the dog's chances. It's a flower that grows in the swamps here, if I remember. If you happen across it, I could use it. It's very distinctive; all white with a blood-red center."

"Will he be alright without it?" Blair asked.

"If he doesn't get it, chances are he'll need to be put down."

Blair's eyes widened in near-panic. "Where in the Wilds would I find this flower?"

"It usually grows in dead wood at the edge of ground pools. There should be plenty this time of year."

"I'll see if I can find one," Blair promised.

"Good. In the meantime, I'll begin treating our poor friend."

Blair looked back worriedly as Conrí led her to the Warden's tent. "If all goes well, you might have yourself a mabari," Conrí commented.

"Huh? You think so?"

"Aye. That big fella had all the signs of imprinting. He didn't snap or so much as growl at you. Add that to the fact, he didn't move to attack while suffering from darkspawn taint. I think you have a good shot of that dog imprinting on you."

Blair was quiet for a long moment. "Well, let's just get that herb for him first."

Conrí nodded as they came to the tent. Alistair was already there with the other recruits.

Koun gave a loud bark as he saw his master approach and loped over, licking Conrí's hand as he got close to the dog. Duncan nodded as he saw who approached. "Good, you are all here. I'll assume you're ready to begin preparations. Assuming, of course, Alistair, that you're quite finished riling up mages!" the old Warden turned on his younger compatriot, glowering down at him with an expression that reminded Tira of Marethari chiding her as a girl for her youthful indiscretions. Alistair's look of chastened discomfort reminded Tira so much of herself in that situation she had to suppress a snigger.

"What can I say? The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army" Alistair protested, earning a deeper scowl and a raised eyebrow from Duncan.

"She forced you to sass the mage, did she? We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair; we do not need to give anyone more ammunition against us"

"You're right, Duncan. I apologize" Alistair replied with a chastised nod.

Duncan sighed and then turned back to the recruits. "Well, since you're all here, we can begin. You all will be heading into the Korcari Wilds, to obtain seven vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit."

"Darkspawn blood!" Tira asked, incredulous. One of the things she remembered from the briefing she'd walked into was that darkspawn blood was a powerful toxin more lethal than any man-made poison. So much as touching it was said to lead to instant death, or worse weeks of agonizing madness, _followed_ by death. "What do we need darkspawn blood for?"

"For the Joining itself. I will explain more when you return" was Duncan's terse reply.

This did little to allay the others' curiosity, but the Tristan had to admit, he did feel a sense of eager anticipation at the thought of combat. He gave a grin and murmured "Finally, some action!"

Duncan chuckled at this and replied with a small grin. "Indeed. Darkspawn are not renowned for their willingness to surrender their blood!" At this, Duncan handed over seven glass phials to Alistair.

"And what is the second task?" Daveth enquired.

"There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind magically sealed to protect them." Duncan turned to his young underling, "Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can."

"What kind of scrolls are these?" Serena asked.

"Old treaties, if you're curious. Promises of support made to the Grey Wardens long ago," Duncan replied, surprised the young dwarf would show curiosity. "They were once considered only formalities. With so many having forgotten their commitments to us, I suspect it may be a good idea to have something to remind them with."

"And what if they're no longer there?" Blair's brow creased. "We could be chasing a needle in a haystack; hardly advisable in a dense forest overrun by darkspawn, you'll agree?"

"It's possible the scrolls may have been destroyed or even stolen, though the seal's magic should have protected them. Only a Grey Warden can break such a seal."

Alistair piped up at this point, his face uncertain, "I don't understand...why leave such things in a ruin if they're so valuable?"

Duncan sighed in regret. "It was assumed we would someday return. A great many things were assumed that have not held true."

"So how will we find this archive?" Tira asked.

"It will be an overgrown ruin by now, but the sealed chest should remain intact. Alistair will guide you to the area you need to search. I will be giving him a map of the area in the Wilds where you are going." Duncan shrugged, "Granted, the map is as old as the chest, but it should get you there."

"Is this part of our Joining too?" Garik questioned.

Duncan shook his head "No, but the effort must be made. I have every confidence you are up to the task."

"Find the archive and seven vials of black blood from the vilest beasts ever to walk the face of Thedas. It will be done with all haste, milord" Garik replied with glib sarcasm.

Duncan raised an eyebrow, and then turned to Alistair "Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely."

"We will," was Alistair's terse reply.

"Wait!" Erin trotted up to the tent. "Take me with you."

"Erin, what are you doing here?" Conrí asked.

"I want to join the Wardens, brother," Erin said as she came to a stop. "You'll need all the help you can get."

"Sister, Duncan and I both swore to Father that-,"

"I know. I made no such promise. And you only swore not to conscript me. I'm joining of my own volition."

"Erin… the Joining is dangerous…"

"I understand that. My mind hasn't changed."

"But…"

"Conrí…" Erin said softly. "I know you want to protect me… but this is my choice. And you'll need me. Please. Don't fight me on this."

"Erin… being a Grey Warden isn't something you can leave once this is all over. This is for life. There is no leaving. Even if you run, you'll always find yourself among more Wardens, or in the Deep Roads fighting darkspawn. It's nothing like the stories Nan told us as children."

"I know that. Real life is never like the stories. But my mind still hasn't changed. This way, I can be more in this life than the wife of some stuffy noble. I'm as much a warrior as you. And Fereldan needs me."

Conrí sighed after a long moment. "Duncan, give Alistair one more vial. Seems you're getting what you want." Duncan nodded solemnly and handed Alistair another glass vial. "Be careful sister. Once you return… there is no going back."

"I know," Erin hugged her brother before turning to Alistair with a nod. With that, the group gathered up their weapons and supplies, made for the gate that led down to the main army camp in the valley, taking ten minutes to wend their way down the winding path to the base of the valley. From there, it was across the plain between the valley and the woods, and then into the depths of the Korcari Wilds.


	9. Wolves, Darkspawn and Witches, Oh My

Chapter 9 Wolves, Darkspawn and Witches, Oh My

The group had barely gotten a mile into the forest before they were attacked. A pack of wolves, either starving or crazed by the Blight, charged from the underbrush but were quickly cut down by Daveth and Tira's master archery and Tristan's spells. Those that managed to avoid the deadly missiles were dispatched by Alistair, Jory, Erin, Garik, Serena and Blair.

Tira held up her hand as another wolf crept from the brush. "Wait…" The wolf eyed the group before loping forward. When the beast was within ten feet of Tira, it charged, leaping at the elf. Everyone seized their weapons… only to realize the wolf was licking Tira's face happily. "Tsume! Oh it's so good to see you, lethallan!"

"You… know this wolf, Tira?" Erin asked as she lowered her swords.

"Yes!" Tira laughed as she pushed the wolf off. "I found her as a cub a year ago. We think her mother was killed by the hunters. When I left the clan, I asked Merrill to look after her. I was worried because she sent me a messenger hawk about a week ago that Tsume had run off."

"She followed you all the way here?" Garik asked, his voice awed.

"She must have. I've missed you so much, my friend," Tira said embracing the wolf, who happily licked her ear, rubbing up against the Dalish archer. Tsume began to whine as she noticed an off scent about Tira. "Yes… I am sick, lethallan. That's why I'm here. The Grey Wardens say they can help me. Come. An extra set of teeth is always helpful and we have many darkspawn to mow down."

Tsume barked in agreement, falling into step beside Tira as the group continued into the Wilds but not before Daveth and Garik quickly skinned the pelts from the fallen wolves. Daveth said that the quartermaster was paying well for furs that he could sell for capes or blankets to soldiers who needed some extra warmth sleeping in a tent on a cold night in the wilderness.

Further on, they came across the corpse of a Chantry missionary lying face-down in a pool of brackish marsh water; obviously a victim the wolves had already claimed. They recovered a letter indicating the man had hidden a cache of supplies somewhere in the Wilds, then continued along the path…and came upon the site of a bloody massacre.

A pair of wagons lay overturned on their sides, the oxen that had been pulling them lying dead on their sides, bearing vicious wounds. Huge strips of meat and even some limbs had been torn off the animals; the darkspawn must have taken the meat as a prize. Bodies of men, clad in chainmail and the emblems of various banns and Arls, or in leather armor with braided hair marking them as Chasind refugees or mercenaries, lay scattered about where they had died. Many of them hadn't even managed to draw their weapons before they'd been cut down. _These poor bastards were taken completely by surprise_ Erin knew.

Suddenly, she heard a gasp of agony and saw one of them, a thin, young man in chainmail, thrash weakly on the ground.. As they approached, Erin could see _something _had slashed his side with long claws, and the man was clutching his stomach, where a small, circular, but deep wound had been made. The recruits heard Alistair mutter the word "Shriek…" under his breath, but didn't know what to make of it.

Erin went over to the man, wondering and dreading that he might be one of the Highever patrol, but to her relief she saw the fellow was from West Hills, not Highever. The wounded man looked up as he realized he was not alone. "Who is that?" he called. For a moment, Erin saw a look of fear on his face. _No doubt he thinks the darkspawn have come back to finish him off! _Erin thought. The dread turned to relief as he saw the interlopers were fellow soldiers. His head tilted slightly in Alistair's direction, "Grey...Wardens?"

"Well, he's not half as dead as he looks." Alistair remarked.

The soldier groaned again, "My scouting patrol, we were attacked by darkspawn. They came out of the ground…" The guard's pale face grimaced in pain as he struggled to raise himself up. "Please, help me! I need to get back to camp!"

"Let's at least try to patch him up" Serena suggested.

"Move," Tristan shoved Jory aside and knelt next to the wounded soldier. A bright blue light shined from his hands and the gashes began to mend themselves.

It took only a few moments, and then Erin and Alistair helped the wounded man to his feet, who muttered his thanks and began to hobble off in the direction of the camp.

The second the fellow was out of earshot, Ser Jory piped up, his voice so high anyone would think he was singing a soprano. "Did you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!" His eyes uneasily flicked from tree to tree, as if expecting darkspawn to come out from hiding behind them any second.

Alistair spoke in a placating tone before the Redcliffe knight could continue. "Calm down, Ser Jory. We'll be fine if we're careful."

Jory however wasn't calmed, "Those soldiers were careful, and they were still overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the lot of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire army in these forests!"

Again, Alistair toned his voice to be soothing, though Erin caught the barest hint of annoyance. The woman had to agree with the Warden. _Surely his whining is more likely to attract the darkspawn's attention than our footsteps! _"There are darkspawn about, but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde."

"How do you know? I'm not a coward, but…" At this, Tristan hid a snort in a poorly disguised cough, while Serena raised an eyebrow. Ser Jory was fortunately preoccupied with trying not to soil his armor to notice their reactions. "But this is foolish and reckless. We should go back!"

Alistair let out an exasperated sigh and placed an exasperated hand on his brow. Erin tried to talk the man down, relying on her infamous silver tongue to reassure the unnerved man. "Overcoming these dangers is part of our test."

Jory looked round at Erin with a simple look on his face, "That's...true."

Alistair nodded gratefully at Erin, before looking them all squarely in the eye as he addressed them. "Know this. All Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won't take us by surprise. _That's_ why I'm here."

Daveth favored Jory with a wry grin. "You see, ser knight? We might die, but we'll be warned about it first!"

Alistair groaned covering his face with his hand, while the knight squinted at Daveth. "That is...reassuring?"

"That doesn't mean I'm here to make this easy, however" Alistair pointed out. "So let's get a move on."

And so they continued deeper into the Wilds, seeking out their quarry. Soon, Tira spotted something near a pool of water. "Blair!" she called headed over. Growing from a cluster of dead wood on the water's edge was a bunch of small white flowers with a red center. "Are these the flowers you mentioned earlier?"

"Yes, that's the one!" Blair eagerly picked a small handful. "Here," she said, handing a few to Tira. "If Tsume is going to help us, you'd better hang onto a few."

"Good idea. Ma serannas, lethallan,"

Blair looked at Tira quizzically. "I don't mean to sound like an uneducated bumpkin, but what does that mean?"

"Oh," Tira giggled. "I'm sorry. It means, 'Thank you, my friend.'"

"I thought lethallin meant friend."

"It does, but when you are referring to a male. Lethallan is a female friend."

"Oh, okay," Blair blushed slightly. "Would you mind teaching me more of the elven speech?"

"I'd be happy too," Tira chuckled as they resumed walking through the woods. "You remind me a lot of my friend Merrill."

"I do?"

"Yes. You blush so easily and you ramble so adorably," Tira laughed.

Blair blushed again. "Uh, I'm flattered, but I think you might be getting the wrong idea about me…"

"Oh, I know you're only interested in men," said Tira glibly. Blair blushed even more fiercely. "And you're a virgin as well? Look at that blush!"

"What?! How is that any of your business?!"

Tira giggled. "Calm down, my friend, I only tease."

Blair sighed as her ears slowly returned to their normal color. "So who is Merrill?"

"She's Keeper Marethari's First. I think you would call her an apprentice or heir. Both are accurate I suppose."

"Is Merrill Marethari's daughter?" Erin asked as she joined the pair of elves.

"Oh no. She came to our clan at the last Arlathvhen, the gathering of the clans. The Alerion out of Nevarra had many talented mages already so Merrill came to us to be trained as Marethari's first."

"Marethari and Merrill are mages?" Erin asked, surprise coloring her tone.

Tira eyed Erin warily, aware of the Chantry's stance on mages. "Yes. All Keepers and their Firsts are mages. Is that a problem?"

"No, no, I didn't mean it that way!" Erin exclaimed. "I've no problem with mages. I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend."

"It's alright. I'm just... wary of Templars hunting Keepers because of what they are."

"If it makes you feel any better, you and Conrí will get along famously," Alistair quipped. "For a month after I was recruited, all Conrí did was glare at me. I thought at first it was because he was a noble who looked down on me for my birth. But no. He hates Templars."

"With good reason," Erin said, her tone hard. "He saw how badly Templars treat mages. Hell, one of our friends since childhood was hauled off to the Circle. The boy didn't fight and neither did his parents, but the Templars still beat the living daylights out of them both! We still don't know if Anders is even alive!"

"Anders?" Tristan asked, gob smacked. "Anders is alive as far as I know. Though he does have the record of most failed escapes from the Circle. Last I heard, he'd booked it not long before I left."

Erin looked relieved. "Good… That's one thing from our past Conrí and I can put to rest."

However, as they came to a bridge crossing a deep river with no other visible crossing points, they realized why the darkspawn had been so willing to fall back easily; they'd been driving the group towards this point. A large force of darkspawn was gathered on the far side of the bridge. He could make out about five Genlock archers, along with a half dozen other darkspawn. These creatures were much taller than their Genlock counterparts, on a par in height with Jory, their tall, powerful bodies covered in crude armor likely taken from the corpses of those they'd killed.

Twenty two malevolent eyes glared at the four of them; the eyes made the creatures look like old men with cataracts, but the group had no doubt the darkspawn could see them, if the fact their eyes were narrowed in almost feral hate was any evidence. The creatures hissed and snarled at the group, working themselves into a killing frenzy, but not attacking…yet. "If we can kill the Hurlocks, the big ones!" Erin heard Alistair whisper. "We might be able to scatter the Genlocks, but we'll have to hit them hard and fast…!"

Suddenly, a strange figure pushed its way to the front of the darkspawn pack. Erin and the others took a step back in surprise; this creature was much different in appearance from the others. In size and appearance, it resembled the Hurlocks, but instead of armor, its thin body was wrapped in a dirty grey robe and its clawed fists were closed around the shaft of a metal staff festooned with bones and dried blood. The top portion of its bald skull was wrapped in filthy bandages and a crown of feathery spines stood erect at the back of its head. The creature looked at them and hissed a challenge, baring a mouth full of yellow fangs, and then clenched one of its fists. Its meaning was clear as its Hurlock underlings gave a shriek of what sounded almost like delight and broke into a run.

Daveth, Tira and Jory quickly notched arrows to their bows and loosed them as Alistair shot a bolt from his crossbow. Two Hurlocks went down with arrows buried in their bald skulls, while a third fell to one knee, clutching a crossbow bolt in its chest. The crested darkspawn hissed in annoyance and spread its arms wide; with a feeling this could mean no good, Erin shouted "That one's the leader: kill him and we break the others! Daveth, Jory, hold them up! Alistair, with me!"

Jory, roaring like a bull, his earlier unease forgotten, strode into the midst of the Hurlocks, wielding his sword like a scythe as he slashed it across one monster's mid-section, then impaled a second through the neck. Daveth cast aside his bow and drew his daggers as one darkspawn tried to hit Jory over the head from behind with a mace, driving one dagger into the brute's chest, and then beheading it with the other.

Garik and Serena were back to back, slaughtering Genlocks and Hurlocks alike. Darkspawn met their end at the point of Garik's daggers, or the edge of Serena's axe. At one point, Garik took the axe he'd stolen from Beraht from his belt and hurled it at one of the larger Hurlocks, the it embedding itself in the beast's skull. Serena, not to be outdone, tossed her shield like a disk, breaking the neck of a Hurlock facing away from her, before using its prone form as a step up to launch herself higher and come down to split another 'spawn's head with her axe. She quickly retrieved her shield and fell back to stand with Garik.

Blair impressed everyone with her speed and alarming ferocity. Unlike Garik, who preferred daggers held in a reverse grip and slashing, Blair fought with her blade forward between her fingers. She leapt over the swords of a pair of Hurlocks and when she landed she kicked one in the knee before stabbing the second in the chest. Quickly she returned to the first with a flurry of three strikes before alternating another three between her targets, using the far hand for both sides.

Erin cut through her opponents with such efficiency, she was already swinging for her next foe before the first had hit the ground. She removed a Hurlocks arm before finishing it with a swift stab to the heart. A second charged to take the first's place, but was crippled by a single swing that took off its leg below the knee. It fell to its knees with a hiss before Erin who crossed her blades at its throat before scissoring them, slicing through flesh and bone with alarming ease.

The crested darkspawn shrieked in anger and gestured to the Genlocks behind it; at this, they drew knives and clubs and began to charge at the oncoming Alistair and Erin. Alistair blocked a Genlock's stabbing knife with the stock of his crossbow, and then shouldered the thing to the floor. Before it could get back up, Alistair put a bolt point-blank into the creature's chest. The Genlock shrieked like a stuck pig as the iron tip punched into its heart. Two more Genlocks charged Alistair, who drew his sword and shield and made to fend them off.

Erin, meanwhile, kicked another to the floor and finished it off without breaking stride, her eyes set on the crested Hurlock. The beast bared its fangs in challenge and raised its staff above its head. She saw flashes of energy playing across the palm of its left, coalescing into a ball of lightning that the Hurlock then threw at Erin.

_Magic! _Erin wondered as she leapt aside and the lightning blasted the ground where she'd been. _How!?_ It had been her understanding that darkspawn were little more than animals; surely they shouldn't have had the skill or even intelligence to use magic like a mage? And yet what had just happened said otherwise. _Still, I've fought mages before, and if this creature's anything like them, it should need time to recover its power…_

But to her horror, she could see the darkspawn was clearly preparing another spell with incredible swiftness: the palms of both its hands crackled with magically-spawned flames that it was aiming at Alistair, who had his back to the creature, his blade locked with a Genlock's axe. Suddenly, an arrow from Tira struck the Hurlock mage in its shoulder, distracting it enough for Erin to charge in. She swung her sword pommel into the monster's gut and as it staggered, wrenched its staff from its grip and snapped it underfoot. As the monster tried to regain its breath, Erin stabbed out with the Cousland sword and drove it straight through the Hurlock's chest. The monster shrieked in pain-crazed rage, a sound that caught the attention of its minions and the other men.

But as Erin was about to pull the sword free, the darkspawn seized her wrist and hissed through clenched fangs "You-die-with-me, scum!" Erin nearly dropped her sword in shock: seeing darkspawn that could wield magic was one thing, but one thing she'd been sure of was that darkspawn would be incapable of human speech. The shock of realizing just how wrong she was overwhelmed her so much that she failed to notice the entropic power gathering in the dying Hurlock's hands until it was too late. Before Erin could react to either get away or finish the creature off before it could act, the power in the Hurlock's hands coalesced into a glowing orb of fire that flew from its palm and blasted Erin full in the chest. Both woman and darkspawn were sent flying in opposite directions: the Hurlock flew through the air, ending up impaled on the sharpened branches of a dead tree. Erin was sent crashing to the ground, cracking her head hard on a rock as she landed, bounced and then crashed into the water. She heard distant voices calling her name…then saw darkness, then nothing.

As consciousness returned to her, Erin was lying on her back under the wolf furs the others had skinned earlier. She tried to sit up, and winced in sudden pain as fiery agony seared through her side. The woman reached beneath the blankets she was covered by, and saw her bare chest was wrapped with bandages. More than slightly perturbed as to how they got there, she peeled them back slightly, and saw several dark burns on her flesh. Erin reached up to her brow and winced as she felt more bandages wrapped around her skull.

Suddenly, she heard a laugh and saw Daveth looking over her, grinning "Good to see you, ya crazy wench! We thought you were a goner for sure! Oi, Alistair, our mage-killer is awake! Tristan, time for you to work that voodoo bit of yours."

"Where are we?" Erin asked as she spied Tira, Blair Garik and Serena crowded around the campsite.

"In a secluded grove in the Korcari Wilds, whiling the night away. When that darkspawn mage took you out, we didn't know what to do. The beasts lit out of here as soon as they saw their leader skewer himself on that tree, but we were at a loss what to do with you. We had to get you away, but we're too far from the camp to have gone back, and you needed treatment fast. So we stopped just long enough to scoop up some blood into those phials Duncan gave us, then found somewhere quiet to treat you. By then, the sun was going down and Alistair said it was too risky to keep going in the dark, but he says we're only a few miles short of the tower: once we're sure you're up to carrying on, he's says we'll continue onwards in the morning." Daveth finished.

She heard armored footsteps approaching and saw Alistair approach from behind the rogue. "Good to see you're alive, my friend: if you'd bit it, Conrí would have had my tender regions mashed on an anvil…for a start! Go easy though, try not to overexert yourself; I'd say you're still quite weak. The emissary did a lot of damage!"

"Emissary?" Erin asked as she sat up gingerly, the term unfamiliar to her. Tristan walked around and sat behind her, his magic already going to work on Erin's injuries.

"The magic-wielding darkspawn that blasted you. They're the only ones of the horde smart enough to make use of it."

Erin's eyes widened in shock. "My swords!" she cried.

"Right here, salroka," said Garik, making his way over to her, carrying her weapons. She yanked the Cousland blade from its sheath ignoring the pain shooting through her side. The blade was a bit scorched, but otherwise undamaged. "Took the liberty of getting the 'spawns blood off them for ya."

"Thank you Garik," Erin whispered as she pressed her forehead against the flat of the blade. It was the only thing that she still retained of her family. She could still hear her mother's voice as she drew this sword for the first time. _That blade cannot fall into Howe's hands; it should sever his treacherous head!_

"It will, Mother… I swear…" she returned the blade to its scabbard and set the pair of swords next to her.

"Daveth!" Alistair snapped. "Get Erin some food; she needs to eat if she's going to get her strength back!"

Daveth scowled but obeyed, returning with a piping hot bowl of what looked to be stew, which he had set down by Erin, who took it and gingerly began eating. It was quite good: she could taste fish and another meat. "What is it?"

"Salmon and rabbit stew" Alistair replied. "That emissary's fire ball blasted a number of fish out of the water, and we found a good many rabbits in this clearing, which we caught a few of after making sure you were alright." Erin nodded and tucked in with wild abandon, swiftly gorging herself on the fine fare, feeling hot stew trickle down her lower jaw as she rapidly spooned it down.

At that moment, Ser Jory reappeared with a large bundle of firewood in his thick arms. "Build a small fire" Alistair ordered. "We don't want to attract any unwanted attention." As Jory dropped the bundle and began to create a spark by rubbing two pieces of flint together, Erin decided to break the silence, by getting to know her comrades-in-arms. "So, Ser Jory, you said you were from Redcliffe?"

The knight looked round at her and nodded. "I hail from Redcliffe, but I was recruited by Duncan in Highever, a city off the northern coast," Jory gave a wistful homesick smile which reminded Erin about her own feelings about Highever. "Have you travelled there?"

"I…" Erin sighed. There was no point in dancing around it: they'd find out soon enough. "My father was the lord of that city."

Jory did a double-take, then leapt to his feet and gave a full bow. "My Lady Cousland, I am honored!"

"So what did you do to get sent out here?" Daveth questioned. Serena flicked his ear, much as she did frequently with Garik.

"That…is a story for another time, when I am more inclined to tell it. Please, continue Ser Jory," Erin bluntly replied.

"I was in Arl Eamon's retinue when he attended King Maric's funeral. It was at Highever that I met my Helena," Jory's face took on a wistful, faraway look of joyful desire. "I was smitten. She has the most beautiful eyes, my Helena. For years I found any excuse to return there. We married a year ago."

"Congratulations" Erin replied without any real feeling.

Jory, either not noticing or ignoring, nodded and carried on "Arl Eamon gave me leave to serve Highever, but I was attempting to persuade Helena to return to Redcliffe with me. Or at least, I was until Duncan recruited me." The knight shrugged solemnly "Last month, Duncan visited Redcliffe while I was there with my Helena, and one of the local banns held a tournament there in his honor. I won the grand melee."

"So you abandoned her?" Tristan sniped, raising an eyebrow.

"Never! I will return to her once my duty is done and the Blight defeated. It was hard to leave my wife. We married only a year ago, and she is heavy with child now. But...Ferelden needs my blade, I shall not falter."

"So, what do you think of Duncan?" Garik asked. Personally, he saw Conrí as the better leader, but then again, he hadn't seen Duncan work much.

Jory considered the question thoughtfully, his scowl becoming a grimace of contemplation before he stated "He has a seemingly impossible task, with a scarce handful of Grey Wardens. Yet he does not complain or flinch from his duty." Ser Jory shrugged, "We should find those documents as soon as we can. Although if they were so important, why leave them out here?"

"As Duncan said," Alistair grimaced. "They always expected to return for them. But even the best-laid plans can go awry. What matters is that we are here now and we will retrieve them from this place...provided our comrade's taste for heroics doesn't get her killed next time!"

Guiltily looking away, Erin turned to Daveth and asked "What about you, Daveth? What's your story?"

"Ha!" the rogue laughed. "You just want to get the attention off of you. But if you're interested, I'll tell you; I grew up in a village 'bout a day's trip to the east. Little blot you wouldn't even find on a map." The rogue pulled a face at the memory and continued "I haven't been back in years. I struck out for the city as soon as I could outrun my pa. He and I never really got along after my dear old mum passed into the Maker's hands one winter. I've been in Denerim for what...six years now? Never liked it much, but there's more purses there than anywhere else." He gave a rueful grin.

Serena grinned, raising an eyebrow. "So, you're a cutpurse."

Daveth shook with laughter, "..and a pickpocket, thank you very much! Or I was, anyhow. Who'd ever guess I'd end up a Grey Warden?"

"So how did that happen? How did the Grey Wardens find you?" Tira asked.

"I found them. With the soldiers leaving Denerim for Ostagar, and all the crowds waving and cheering them goodbye...it was too much to resist. I cut Duncan's purse while he was standing in a crowd." Daveth sniggered, "He grabbed my wrist, but I squirmed out and bolted. The old bugger can run," Daveth joked, ignoring the glower of disapproval Alistair threw at him. "But the garrison caught me first. I'm a wanted man in Denerim, you see, so the city garrison were going to string me up right there."

"And what happened then? How'd you get out of that one?" Garik asked, taking a liking to Daveth. As Garik put it, the Wardens seemed to have a taste for street rats.

"Duncan stopped them. Invoked the Right of Conscription, he did. I gave the garrison the finger while I was walking away." Daveth shrugged with a gleeful expression on his face, "Don't know why Duncan wants someone like me. But he says finesse is important, and that I'm fast with a blade...You bet your boots I am. Besides, it beats getting strung up." .

"I won't argue with you there!" Blair nodded "So, what do you think of Duncan?"

"He's all right for an old bugger." Alistair again gave the rogue a cold glare but said nothing "He's faster than he looks too. And I'm grateful to him for his saving my ass from a short drop and a sudden stop, and his faith in little old me and my potential. Well, you heard the same speech I did. Still, I've never heard of a tower that stood for more than ten years in this forest…" he mused.

"Alright, that's enough chatter," Alistair cut across them. "Erin, get some rest. The rest of you, try and get some yourself but keep an eye on her. I'll take the first watch and change at midnight." Erin nodded and collapsed back to the ground.

They woke early, but it was mid-afternoon by the time Erin felt strong enough to move again. Magic or not, the healing took a lot of energy. The ruined tower of the archive lay directly ahead of them, but it took them a little under two hours to get there: Erin had to go slow on account of the fact she was still quite weakened by the emissary's fire spell, and the others were forced to slow their pace to compensate. As the hours passed, and the sun sunk lower and lower in the heavens, the tower drew closer and closer, until they came to a steep hill atop which the tower sat. Swiftly, they began to make their way up it, Erin even managing to jog lightly, buoyed up by the knowledge their quest was nearly at an end.

When they reached the tower's entrance, they were attacked briefly by a small band of Hurlocks, but they managed to fend off the creatures, taking them down from a distance with arrows. The only real challenge had been a large darkspawn, a Hurlock far bigger than its kin, wielding a curved sword in its right hand and a notched dagger in its left, clad in far heavier armor and its head protected by an ornate, horned helm. It had taken three arrows to even slow the creature, and it had taken some blade work to put the hulking brute down: Jory had taken the glory of slaying the Hurlock, slamming his sword into its gut, then hacking the winded darkspawn down with a hefty blow that smashed the creature off its feet. In the battle's aftermath, Alistair announced the larger darkspawn had been a Hurlock Alpha. Like the emissaries, the Alphas were smarter than the average darkspawn, acting as the captains of the horde, goading and bullying the darkspawn under their command into obeying the commands given to them by the will of the archdemon.

Quickly, they raced up a small flight of stairs into the ruined entrance hall of what had once been the tower. The chest they sought was to their left, heavily damaged but more or less intact. Directly ahead of them was a staircase that would have led to the tower's upper floor, but the walls of the tower appeared to have crumbled under the pressure of erosion, time and the elements and the tower's upper chambers had collapsed.

Erin quickly staggered over to the chest, instructing the others to keep their eyes peeled for any signs of trouble. She bent down to the chest and pulled back the cracked remnants of the chest's lid. There was nothing inside but a thin layer of wood dust; no scrolls, not even a hint of parchment. Erin slammed the lid down angrily. "Blood and spite! It's empty!"

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" a haughty female voice sniffed. Erin whirled round, her hand flying towards the hilt of her sword, but to her surprise, she saw the interloper wasn't what she expected.

Loping down the ramp from the ruined upper quarters of the tower in long strides, moving with almost feline grace was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. She looked to be about Erin's age and was tall and slender, close to Erin in height, with elegantly long legs and delicate, long fingered hands. Her face possessed beauty that artists would sell their souls to capture, with jet-black hair tied back from a pretty face with a strong chin, high cheekbones and alabaster-pale skin that contrasted perfectly with her dark coils of hair. She was wearing a strange set of clothing: a torn and ragged purple vest that seemed to be for the purpose of exposing her ample chest rather than covering it, along with a pair of black leggings that clung to her limbs. Her right arm was bare; her left covered by a long velvet sleeve that covered from her shoulder to her wrist. Her unusual apparel was completed by the addition of various feathers, beads and precious stones and a simple necklace was wrapped around her neck, the gem at its centre dangling just above her cleavage, along with a long wooden staff clutched in her right hand. "Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey? Which is it? Scavenger, or intruder!" she snapped.

Erin felt her hackles raise: she was quite tired of this wretch's stuck-up attitude. _I suffered enough of that at the hands of Ferelden's women of high society and their air-head daughters; I'm not going to take it from this backwater wench who looks like she had a blight wolf for a tailor!_' "Intruder?" she snapped. "And just how exactly are these _your_ Wilds!"

The woman gave a mirthful chuckle and said, "Because I know them as only one who owns them could. Can you claim the same?" At this point, she stepped forward and began to circle the group, making Erin think uneasily of a cat circling a trapped mouse before going in for the kill. "I have watched your progress for some time" she intoned. "'Where do they go?' I wondered. 'Why are they here?' And now, you disturb ashes no one has touched for so long." She stopped against a ruined wall of the tower's entrance hall, leaning against the stone. "Why is that?"

"_Don't_ answer her" Erin heard Alistair snap. "She looks Chasind, and that means others could be nearby..."

The woman cut across him with a derisive snort, waving her arms in a mocking gesture of terror. "Oooh! You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?" she shot at Alistair, the sarcasm almost dripping from her lips.

"Yes, swooping is..._bad_." Alistair answered, glowering at her.

At this point, Daveth cut in, and Erin was surprised to hear a note of fear in the rogue's tone. "She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is! She'll turn us into toads!" Daveth quailed slightly as the woman fixed him with her raptor's gaze.

"Witch of the Wilds?" she questioned with a sigh. "Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own? You there!" she directed at Erin. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civil."

Erin was caught a little off guard, but rationalized her request as not unreasonable. _Besides, I am the daughter of a teyrn, and I won't have this woman thinking I'm the barbarian whore she clearly believes I am._ With that, Erin clicked her heels, gave a full bow and answered. "My name is Erin. A pleasure to meet you."

The woman's eyebrows rose and her eyes widened with satisfaction; clearly she hadn't been expecting such decency. "Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan. Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something which is here no longer?"

"Here no longer!" he heard Alistair snap angrily. "You stole them, didn't you! You're some kind of...sneaky...witch thief!" he angrily finished, glaring up at her. Erin pinched the bridge of her nose.

"How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men, I wonder?" Morrigan's lip curled in amusement as she sneered down at Alistair.

"Quite easily it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them," Alistair glared at her.

Morrigan's amused sneer hardened into a cold scowl of annoyance as she glared down at Alistair as though he were a cockroach she greatly longed to crush. "I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish: I am not threatened."

"Then do you know who took them?" Garik cut across them. He decided to take charge of the situation before Alistair provoked a fight. Morrigan looked at him and answered "T'was my mother, in fact."

"Your...mother?" Garik answered, raising an eyebrow.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed at this. "Yes, _my mother,_" she replied, annunciating every word as talking to someone deaf and stupid. "Did you assume I spawned from a log perhaps?"

Alistair coldly muttered under his breath "A thieving, weird-talking log." Erin flicked his ear, taking a page from Serena's book.

Morrigan gave an exasperated sigh and leant against the stone wall, examining her nails as she answered, her facial expression saying she clearly found them more interesting than Alistair. "Not all in the Wilds are monsters. Flowers grow here, as well as toads."

"Can you take us to your mother?" Tristan asked.

"There is a sensible request," Morrigan smiled wickedly. "I like you."

"I'd be careful," Alistair mumbled. "First it's 'I like you,' but then ZAP! Frog time."

Daveth piped up again, yelping "She'll put us in the pot she will. Just you watch!"

"If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change!" Ser Jory chipped in as they followed Morrigan out of the ruins.

AN: Well, three chapters in one day. I will have more in the next few days after i clean them up a bit. Just as a note, i will say some of the later chapters will be a bit... Racy. Since Fanfic is such a stickler for anything MA i will be putting the uncensored versions on Deviantart.


	10. The Joining and A War Council

Chapter 10 The Joining and A War Council

The group stumbled out of the wilds a number of hours later. Morrigan had taken them to her mother and she indeed had the scrolls. But that's not what unnerved Erin. What unnerved her was that the woman seemed to know everything about her. Things she had never told the group. She shivered and gripped her sword's hilt tightly.

One welcome sight was her brother standing near the Grey Warden tent. He was wearing a set of studded leather armor, much to Erin's surprise. Conrí smiled in relief when he saw her, but his brow quickly furrowed when he saw her walking gingerly. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Erin assured him. "Just a nasty run in with an Emissary."

"Blast… I knew I should have gone with you…"

"It's alright. Tristan patched me up. I'm just a little sore. Where's your armor?"

"Ah, the quartermaster is replacing a few of the straps," Conrí told her. "With all the fighting lately, they've taken some wear and tear." His eyes turned to the large black and grey wolf that accompanied Tira. He knelt down, bringing himself to the wolf's eye level. The wolf gave a low growl, but Conrí didn't flinch or move an inch. Tsume's ears pulled back and her hackles raised as her lips drew back to expose ivory white fangs. Still, Conrí made no move to flee.

Tira began to get worried. "Tsume…" to her alarm the wolf lunged forward, barking fiercely.

But Conrí still didn't waver. After a tense moment, the wolf relaxed and loped forward, nuzzling and licking the underside of Conrí's chin. Conrí scratched Tsume's ears and rubbed her neck. When the warrior finally looked up, he noticed the looks of stunned disbelief on the recruits' faces. "It's an animal thing."

"You've returned, I see," Duncan spoke from behind the pair. "Have you been successful?"

"Not that it was easy," Erin told him, a hand going instinctively to her still tender ribs. "But, yes."

"Good," Duncan nodded. "Wait… where is Blair?"

"At the kennels," Tira told him, gesturing to the ash-blonde woman handing the Kennel Master the flower she had found. Duncan nodded, recognizing the herb.

"There was a woman at the tower, and her mother had the scrolls. They were both very..._odd_" Alistair informed Duncan.

"Where they Wilder folk?" Duncan enquired, but Alistair shook his head.

"I don't think so. They might be apostates-mages hiding from the Chantry."

"I know you were once a Templar, Alistair, but Chantry business is not ours. We have the scrolls; let us focus on the Joining." With that, Duncan turned back to the recruits. "While you were away, I've had the Circle mages preparing: with the blood you've retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately."

"Will you tell us now what this Joining Ritual entails?" Blair asked as she returned to the group.

"I will not lie: we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree you pay your price sooner rather than later."

"You're saying this ritual could..._kill_...us?" Garik asked, uneasy.

Duncan nodded grimly. "As could any darkspawn you face in battle. You would not have been chosen, however, if Conrí or I didn't think you had a chance to survive."

"Let's go then. I'm anxious to see this Joining now," Daveth replied, sounding resolute.

"I agree; let's have it done," Jory added, though everyone heard a quavering note of uncertainty in the knight's voice.

Duncan nodded approvingly. "Then let us begin. Conrí, Alistair, take them to the old temple."

"The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it" Jory muttered as he paced uneasily across the stone of the crumbling temple where Garik and Serena first met Alistair.

"Are you blubbering again?" Daveth retorted, scowling.

"Why all these damn tests? Have I not earned my place?" Jory snapped back.

Daveth shrugged. "Maybe it's tradition. Maybe they're just trying to annoy you...!"

"Calm down, Ser Jory" Serena said in a placating tone "There's nothing we can do about it now..." but the knight would not be calmed.

"I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. Ifthey had warned me..." he gave a weary sigh. "It just doesn't seem fair."

"Would you have come if they had warned you?" Daveth demanded. "Maybe that's why they don't. The Wardens do what they must, right?" he looked to Conrí, who nodded silently.

"Including sacrificing us!" Jory near-enough shrieked.

Daveth scowled again, expression devoid of fear. "I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight."

Tira raised an eyebrow, impressed; she hadn't expected the rogue to possess such wisdom and solemnity. "I must admit, you do make a good point, Daveth."

The Denerim rogue nodded at her and turned back to Jory. "You saw those darkspawn, ser knight. Wouldn't you die to protect your pretty wife from them?"

"I…" Jory stuttered then sighed.

"Maybe you'll die. Maybe we'll all die. If no one stops the darkspawn, we'll die for sure," Daveth drilled at the knight.

"I've just never engaged a foe I could not defeat with my blade," Jory grumbled. Garik and Tira shook their heads at the man's cowardice.

Armored footsteps announced the presence of another entering the chapel. They looked up to see Duncan, carrying a large, ornate silver chalice in both hands. Around the body were engravings of griffons and dragons and as Duncan passed, Erin saw it was half-full with a strange, black liquid that stank of decay.

Duncan set the chalice down on the remains of the chapel's altar and turned to face them. "At last, we come to the Joining. The first Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood...and mastered their taint"

"We're going to _drink_ the blood of those...those creatures!" Jory asked, horrified.

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us. As _we_ did before you. _This_ is the source of our power and our victory" was Duncan's solemn reply.

"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint," Alistair added. "We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon."

"Those who survive?" Blair asked, getting a bit uneasy herself.

Duncan turned to look her directly in the eye, and Blair saw a great deal of sorrow and regret in those dark eyes. "Not all who drink the blood will survive, and those who do are forever changed. It is the price we pay. We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, Conrí, if you would?"

The pair nodded, drawing their swords from their belts and resting them point down on the stone, gripping the pommels. "_Join us, brothers and sisters_," they said in perfect unison. "_Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, _we_ shall join _you," Erin spied Conrí watching her with a look of sorrow too ancient for his young eyes.

Duncan turned and picked the chalice up off the altar, holding it in both hands. "Daveth, step forward."

Daveth strode forward and Duncan held out the chalice to him. Daveth took it and raised it to his lips, drinking down a small portion of the liquid within. Duncan took the chalice but as he did, Daveth staggered back, gasping in pain. The young rogue doubled over, one hand clutching his stomach, the other clawing at his head. A gut-wrenching scream poured from his mouth as he suddenly stood up and the others saw his eyes had rolled up in his head.

"Maker's breath!" Jory gasped, the panic in his voice plain for all to hear.

As they watched in horror, Daveth collapsed to his hands and knees, one hand going to his throat as he choked and gasped for breath. Duncan gave a regretful sigh. "I am sorry, Daveth," he murmured sadly. Daveth collapsed face-down on the floor, twitching weakly for a few more seconds, and then was still. He had failed the Joining. Duncan turned away from Daveth's still form to face Jory. "Step forward, Jory."

However, the knight was backing away, terror on his face as he reached for the hilt of his sword at his back. "I have a wife, a child...had I known" he pleaded.

Duncan's face hardened, his eyes cold and unforgiving. "There is no turning back..." he answered in a flat voice devoid of pity or sympathy.

Jory shook his head. "No!" he cried. "You ask too much! There is no glory in this!" Duncan then drew a knife with a long, curved blade and advanced on Jory. The frightened knight, ready to lash out like a cornered beast, gave a snarl of anger and charged Duncan, swinging his sword, but the Warden parried his strike. Jory attacked again with a low slash, but Duncan blocked, knocked Jory's sword from his hand and drove the knife deep into the side of Jory's chest. Jory gasped in shock as he felt the weapon bite into his flesh.

The recruits watched as the knight looked at Duncan, all seeing the regret in his eyes. "I am sorry." With a groan, Jory collapsed to his knees, his hands weakly and vainly trying to staunch the blood flowing down in his side, but, as with Daveth, it was in vain, and Ser Jory collapsed in an ever expanding pool of his own blood. He too had failed the Joining. "But the Joining is not complete." Tira stepped up, already feeling as if her insides were on fire. "You have been called upon to submit yourself to the taint, for the greater good."

"May the Creators smile on you, my friend," Conrí rumbled.

Tira nodded and drank from the chalice. The disgusting brew tasted as foul as it smelled, burning her throat as it went down. "From this moment on, you are a Grey Warden."

Tira handed the foul concoction back to Duncan, just as the flickering flames in her belly erupted and spread to her head. It felt as if someone had poured molten metal into her skull and stomach. Like Daveth before her, she clutched at her abdomen and temples, crying out in anguish. But when she stood up straight with her eyes rolled back, she fell backwards. Alistair approached quickly, checking her pulse. "She lives," he said with a slightly harried smile.

Duncan smiled slightly. "She will wake in time. Garik, step forward."

Garik sighed and moved toward the man. "Stone accept you if you fall, brother," Serena muttered, but Garik heard it.

"From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden," Duncan intoned.

One by one the recruits ingested the tainted swill and survived until, at last, it was Erin's turn. Conrí gripped is sword tightly, his eyes haunted. Erin drank the blood, not hearing Duncan swearing her in. After she collapsed in agony, she dreamed…

_She saw herself in the dark ruins of a city made from black stone. Overhead, she could hear the beating of leathery wings. She looked up and saw the sky was a foul, sickly green color and there was something above her; a gargantuan dragon, its scaly hide the reddish-black color of a charred corpse. Its eyes were milky-white like the darkspawn's, seemingly blind, but Erin had no doubt the dragon could see her._

_Its reptilian head swayed snake-like from side to side as it regarded her quizzically, as though trying to make sense of what she was. Its mouth opened wide, baring rows of dagger-sized teeth stained yellow with corruption and hissed a challenging snarl at her._

Erin's eyes finally opened, seeing Duncan, Conrí and Alistair kneeling around her. "It is finished," Duncan whispered. "Welcome."

"Two more deaths," Alistair sighed. "In our Joining, only one of us died, but it was horrible. I'm glad most of you made it through."

"How do you feel?" Duncan asked as Conrí pulled Erin to her feet, gripping her shoulder with a smile.

"The pain... that was unbelievable!" Erin muttered, hearing her fellow recruits' quiet agreement.

"Such is what it takes to be a Grey Warden. And now you all are."

"Did you have dreams?" Alistair asked. "I had such terrible dreams after my Joining..." Alistair trailed off, shuddering. Conrí nodded, grimacing at the memory.

"Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as do we all." Duncan said, his tone sympathetic. "Have no fear, that and many other things can be explained in the months to come. For now, we have others matters to attend to."

"There is one last part to your Joining," Conrí told the newest wardens, holding out several glass amulets in the shape of griffons. Looking closely at hers as she took it, Tira noticed there were droplets of black liquid in the glass. "We take some of the darkspawn blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us...of those who didn't make it this far."

"Take some time," Duncan told them. "When you're ready, I'd like you all accompany me to a meeting with the king."

"What kind of meeting?" Blair questioned.

"The king is discussing strategy for the upcoming battle. I am not sure why he's requested your presence. The meeting is to the west, down the stairs. Please attend as soon as you are able."

As the group entered the hall some twenty minutes later, they saw a great wooden table before him, laid out with charts and maps sprawled in disorganized piles across it. Cailan was facing Loghain, and both men were talking in raised voices, and Erin could hear the frustration, strain and anger as neither refused to concede to the other's point.

"Loghain, my decision is final!" Cailan snapped. "I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault!"

"You risk too much, Cailan!" Loghain protested, the exasperation in his voice indicating this was not the first time he and the king had this argument. "The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front line!"

"If that's the case, perhaps we should await the Orlesian forces after all."

"I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!" Loghain growled.

"It is not a fool notion," Cailan growled back. "Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past...and you will remember who is king!"

Loghain pinched his brow in annoyance. "How fortunate Maric didn't live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!" his armored hands clenched into fists, the metal creaking in protest.

"Well then, our current forces will have to suffice, won't they!" Turning away from Loghain with a look of disgusted exasperation, Cailan turned to Duncan, "Are your men ready for battle?"

"They are, your Majesty!" Duncan nodded.

"And the others I met on the road are here as well. I understand congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, your Majesty, but I must admit, I don't feel all that special..." Tira murmured uncertainly.

"Oh, but you are. Every Grey Warden is needed now more than ever. You should be honored to join their ranks!"

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your _undoing_**,** Cailan!" Loghain snapped. "We must now attend to reality!"

"Fine, speak your strategy!" Cailan gestured impatiently to the map directly in front of him; it was a map of the lands surrounding Ostagar. "The Grey Wardens and my army lure the darkspawn into charging our lines, and then...?"

"You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge from ambush," Loghain pointed to his location on the map.

Cailan seemed to agree with his general's strategy. "Flanking the darkspawn. It's good, I like it. This is the Tower of Ishal we're talking about, in the ruins? Who will light this beacon?" the king enquired.

Loghain waved a dismissive hand. "I will have a few men stationed there. It won't be a dangerous task, but it is vital."

"Then we should send our best. Send Alistair, Blair, Garik and Erin to make sure it's done! Conrí, Serena, Tira and Tristan will fight with their fellows."

"You rely on these Grey Wardens too much, Cailan," Loghain cut in. "Is that truly wise?"

"My lord," Conrí interrupted. "If I might speak?" Cailan nodded, gesturing for him to continue. "Wardens fight the darkspawn no matter where we are born. As you know, Teyrn Loghain, I was born a son of Highever, a scarce handful of years after the end of the Orlesian occupation. So as you might imagine, I have a particular interest in keeping the darkspawn from overrunning this country."

"So I suppose you think we should wait for the Orlesians as well, young Cousland?" Loghain sneered.

"The Wardens, absolutely. But not the chevaliers," Loghain's eyes widened as Cailan frowned slightly. "As I said, I grew up on tales of the Occupation. The chevaliers would have no qualms about harassing farmer, noble and soldier alike. They would cause more problems than they would fix. And I don't trust the Empress or her advisors as far as I could throw them. Wardens, in all reality, answer to no one. While the king has been more than reasonable with his requests of us, in the end, he has no true power over us. The same is true of the Orlesian Wardens. The Empress and the Divine have no control of them."

"Then what do you suggest?" Loghain asked, more civilly, but still uneasy about trusting this young pup.

"Proceed with the battle as planned. If all goes well, we can buy enough time to put the treaties to use. I assume Duncan has filled you both in on their contents."

Cailan nodded but Loghain frowned. "What treaties?"

"Duncan?" Conrí turned to his commander, who nodded and handed Conrí the scrolls who passed them to Loghain to peruse. "There are three main groups who have sworn aid to the Grey Wardens in times of Blight; the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar and the mages of the Circle. These are binding. No King, Emperor…" Conrí turned to stare hard at the Revered Mother sitting in on the meeting. "Nor member of the Chantry may interfere." The elderly woman scowled.

Duncan wisely chose to change the subject. "Your Majesty, you shouldconsider the possibility of the archdemon appearing..."

"There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds," Loghain informed Cailan, who nodded and looked back to Duncan.

"Isn't that what your men are here for? In case the beast rears its ugly head?" Duncan, caught off guard, reluctantly bowed to the king's logic and nodded.

At this point, the shifty-looking bald mage piped up, addressing Cailan. "Your Majesty, the tower and its beacon are unnecessary. The Circle of Magi can..."

Whatever offers the mage was about to make was never heard, as the Revered Mother got to her feet and angrily cut across him. "We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage. Save them for the darkspawn!"

"Since when has there been a we?" Conrí muttered darkly. "The Chantry doesn't give one wit about anyone. Can't even spare a few Templars…"

"Enough," Loghain snapped, tiring of the debate between mage and priest. "This plan will suffice, Cailan. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon!" he finished, gesturing to the recruits and Duncan. "And if all goes well, tomorrow we will send a few Wardens around to these groups."

Cailan nodded in thanks, a boyish grin of anticipation lighting up his handsome features. "Thank you, Loghain. I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil! Conrí, might I speak with you privately?"

"Of course," Conrí agreed, following the King.

"Gather your armor and weapons," Duncan instructed the remaining Wardens. "We have much to do."

Not far, Cailan seemed to trip forcing Conrí to catch him. "Cailan, are you alright?" Loghain called.

"Fine, just fine," Cailan called with a wry chuckle. "Seems I shouldn't have missed dinner. I hope the cooks don't mind me dropping by."

Duncan frowned before shaking his head and leading the others back to the Warden tent. Alistair was not pleased to hear he wouldn't be in the battle.

"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair," Duncan told him.

"I get it, I get it," Alistair grumbled. "Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."

"I don't know," Erin giggled. "I think I might like to see that."

"For you, maybe. But it'd have to be a pretty dress."

Duncan sighed in exasperation.

Conrí returned not long later, looking troubled. He called for Koun and the mabari happily loped to his master's side. "Come on, boy. We need to get some kaddis." Koun whined. "Yes, I know it stinks. But you'll just have to deal with it."

"Kaddis?" Serena asked. "What's that?"

Conrí removed his leather cuirass and picked up a bowl of a red paste. "This is kaddis. It overpowers the scent of blood that would confuse the mabari. It also lets the mabari be sure who is on his side."

"Ugh…" Serena winced. "I can see why…"

Conrí smirked and began painting his face, torso and arms with the smelly concoction and then did the same with Koun, who grumbled and whined at the smell. When he finished, an Ash Warrior approached Conrí, he and his mabari likewise painted with kaddis, though with a deep blue color. "Ah, Corvin," Conrí greeted the man. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, we were about to perform the Siva Tau, and I was wondering if you would lead us," Corvin told him.

Conrí seemed surprised. "Oh, of course. It would be an honor." Corvin nodded with a smile and went back to his preparations. Conrí spied Serena watching him as he turned back. "What is it now, Serena?" he chuckled.

"Siva Tau?" she asked with a grimace. _Humans, _she thought.

Conrí smirked again. "You'll see," he said, walking, bare chested over to the group of Ash Warriors, men and women alike, who had formed a few lines about ten across. A small army of mabari sat at attention around the warriors. When Conrí and Koun made it to the front, he looked back at the Ash Warriors before bellowing in old Alamarri. The Ash Warriors answered with fervor. This was repeated before a number of Ash Warriors began beating on hide drums. At the beginning of the rhythm, Conrí and the Ash Warriors stomped and began chanting in Alamarri, slapping their chests, thighs and even the ground as they moved in what seemed almost like an odd dance. But none were fooled into thinking this was purely ceremonial. The feints to the side and backwards movements, reminiscent of a fighter evading an oncoming attack by pulling his weight onto his back leg, all in almost perfect unison, let onlookers know this was a dance of war. The mabari, in contrast to their masters, sat still as sentinels.

Even though the warriors were facing into the Valley, aiming their chants and threats at the darkspawn, the newest Wardens couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear at the sight of their Lieutenant. The chanting and thrashing with his face painted with red kaddis and contorted into a fierce snarl was a stark contrast to his normally calm demeanor. Even the king and the teyrn stopped to watch, both in awe at the sight.

The Siva Tau began winding down, ending with Conrí bellowing one last threat in Alamarri. The hounds howled with him and the Ash Warriors began screaming unintelligibly. The small number of mages with them even blasted fire into the air. Conrí rolled his shoulders and made his way back to the others.

"That was quite the display, Lieutenant," said a burly man with a thick beard as he helped Conrí strap on his true armor.

Conrí chuckled. "Quite a rush, Greigor."

"I'm honestly relieved you and the Ash Warriors are on our side," Erin chuckled. "That was… a bit unnerving."

"That's the point," Conrí told her, rolling his wrist to make sure his gauntlet was on right. "But besides intimidation, there is a practical reason behind the Siva Tau. It gets the heart rate up and adrenaline flowing, making fighting that much easier."

"Come on," Alistair instructed the recruits with him. "We'd better get to the Tower and let the others get ready."


	11. War at Ostagar

Chapter 11 War at Ostagar

Alistair's group moved quickly across the bridge as the army took their positions. Archers stood in a long line in front of the infantry with ballistae to their right, and the crowd of mabari stood to the left. Duncan and Conrí flanked Cailan as they made their way to the field. "The plan will work, your Majesty," Duncan rumbled.

"Of course it will," Cailan answered firmly. "The Blight ends here."

"I hope you're right, Cailan," Conrí muttered as he and Koun took their places.

Thunder cracked and it began to rain. Hundreds of darkspawn stalked out of the forest amidst a heavy mist. At the centre of the horde's front line a massive Hurlock, clad in fine, ornate plate armor that looked like it had once belonged to a Ferelden captain, now stained with dried blood and carved with obscene runes and sigils. Its bald skull was covered by a horned helm like the Alphas, though its helm was much more intricate, and in its hand was a twisted Greatsword. The way the other darkspawn shifted away from it with looks of fear made Conrí certain this creature was in control of the horde. _A bloody Vanguard… great. This thing answers directly to the Archdemon. We have to kill it quickly._

The darkspawn started working themselves into a frenzy but made no move to attack. _Do they suspect a trap_? Erin wondered uneasily as she watched from the bridge. If they didn't engage the main force, they might melt back into the Wilds or worse, find Loghain and his forces. The darkspawn had to be convinced to join battle with Cailan's forces long enough for Loghain to turn the tables on the monsters.

The Hurlock general look up and down the length of its army then gestured emphatically with its sword.. With a screech of delight, the darkspawn in the front line broke into a run, followed swiftly by the lines behind them, all racing straight for the valley.

The Battle of Ostagar had begun.

The horde quickly began crossing the plane at a sprint, all the while screaming battle cries and howling in bestial rage.

"ARCHERS!" Erin heard Cailan's order even from high above. Looking down, she saw the companies of archers quickly light and nock arrows to the strings of their bows. A second voice shouted out and the archers loosed. A volley of flaming arrows flew into the rain-soaked night sky, followed by a second, and a third. Hundreds more darkspawn fell to the shafts; some killed by the shafts raining down, others as they were slowed by a minor wound from an arrow, then knocked aside by their kin charging from behind and trampled underfoot. As with the traps, the arrows slowed the darkspawn's onslaught. Unfortunately, the barrage didn't stop the charge.

Cailan shouted another command "HOUNDS!" At this, a chilling howl rang out from the front ranks and the wall of mabari kin ran from the front lines of the Ferelden army, hurtling like a wall of furry missiles across the valley, barking and snarling in eager rage at the battle at hand. While their numbers weren't large, the mabari line finally slowed the darkspawn.

Cailan grinned and drew his Greatsword. "FOR FERELDEN!"

His army answered with a deafening roar, and as one, charged with Cailan, Duncan, Conrí and the Grey Wardens at their head. The Hurlock Vanguard saw the threat and began to direct the attention of the darkspawn horde towards the incoming charge, but even as the horde saw them, Cailan's charge hit them like a hammer blow. The loss of their momentum had cost them the advantage, and the charge of the Ferelden army sent them reeling. Great boulders began to launch from behind the tree line, causing Erin to wonder if the darkspawn had siege engines of their own. As she watched, one such missile slammed into a ruined tower of Ostagar, damaging it even further, sending chunks of shouldering masonry falling into the valley.

"Let's get across the bridge, and get to the Tower of Ishal!" Alistair yelled over the din of battle. Erin nodded and the group raced across the bridge, keeping their heads down and shields up if they had them as arrows and even missiles were hurled at the archers and ballistae crews on the bridge. They managed to make it across the bridge, heading towards the gate they had entered the camp by, and made to turn left towards the Tower of Ishal.

Two figures came running towards them as they neared the entrance to the tower's courtyard: a tall, dark-haired man with a short beard, clad in the yellow and black robes of a mage of the Circle, and an older fellow in chainmail with a crossbow on his back. Both men bore expressions of terror on their faces as they ran towards the two Wardens, occasionally casting fearful looks back at the tower. They came to a stop at the foot of the stairs and saw the new arrivals; the chainmail-clad guardsman looked at the griffon medallions they wore and realized who they were. "You! You're Grey Wardens aren't you?! The tower...it's been taken!"

"What are you talking about, man! Taken how!" Alistair snapped.

"The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers, they're everywhere! Most of our men are dead!"

"Then we have to get to the beacon and light it ourselves!" Alistair ordered and turned to the soldier and the mage. "What are your names?"

"Wilhelm, soldier of Denerim, at your command, my lord," said the soldier bowing.

"Cormack, enchanter of the Circle of Magi, at your service, milord," the young mage nodded.

Erin nodded. "Come with us," she said. "We're gonna need all the help we can get! Stay back and attack from a distance; let us deal with the bulk of the darkspawn!" With that, the group raced up the stairs and into the courtyard leading to the Tower of Ishal, coming upon a vicious combat; about five armored men were desperately holding their ground against a group of seven Hurlocks and five Genlocks firing arrows into the fray. They were led by an Alpha wielding a blade in both hands.

The men were holding their own, but the darkspawn had the numbers game in their favor. As the group raced to their aid, Erin watched as one Hurlock leapt back from the swipe of a soldier with a battleaxe, then ran him through with its twisted scimitar. A second man fell, pierced at the neck and chest by three arrows shot by the Genlock archers. The Genlocks shrieked in delight at the kill, a cheer that turned into screams as Erin and Wilhelm dropped two of them with well-placed shots of their own.

With a yell, Garik hurled the axe he taken from Beraht at the Alpha; the blade flew end-over-end through the air and hit the Hurlock Alpha clean in the centre of its chest as it drew its sword arm back to finish off one of the men fighting. The monster was knocked clean off its feet, screeching in agony, its clawed hands clasped around the head of the axe embedded in its armored chest. Garik ran over and stomped the head in deeper; the Alpha gave a howl of pain, and then fell back to the ground, tainted blood dripping from its fangs.

Garik drew the new daggers he'd bought from the quartermaster, their design allowing him to punch with the knuckle guards as the blades swept down to run almost parallel to his wrists and forearms. He was ready to fight on, but with the death of their leader, the remaining darkspawn were falling back, retreating back inside the safety of the tower. Garik stooped to remove his axe from the Alpha's chest. The bit came free with what was no doubt a piece of the beast's heart. "Ew…" he muttered. "Should have left it where it was." Garik shook the axe, dislodging the bit of organ, before tucking the weapon into his belt.

Erin slammed an armored boot into the tower's door, and the warriors, mage and rouges charged in, ready to fight their way to the summit of the tower and light the beacon before all was lost.

The group raced into the tower's entrance hall before coming under attack by a trio of Hurlock archers and another emissary; a Genlock this time. As they entered the hall, Erin noticed the floor in front of the door was covered in a greasy slick. As they struggled in, Erin saw flames forming in the emissary's hands.

"Blast…" she swore, knocking an arrow and releasing, the missile piercing the Genlock's face and digging into its brain. Alistair and Wilhelm dropped two of the Hurlock archers with crossbow bolts, Erin charged the third darkspawn, knocked it to the floor with shoulder tackle and stabbed it in the throat.

The group tore through the first floor of the tower encountering a number of Genlocks and Hurlocks. Dozens of blood-stained bodies, hacked to pieces by blades and likely fanged teeth, indicated what had happened to the garrison. The darkspawn hurled themselves at the interlopers, but they posed little challenge; Erin, Alistair and Wilhelm first hit them with crossbow bolts and arrows. Those that survived long enough to fight back were finished off by Garik and Blair's daggers or Cormack's magic.

They quickly reached the staircase to the second floor. As they began to climb up to the second floor, Alistair wheezed out, "Maker's Breath, what are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde! There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"

Erin shrugged her shoulders and glibly replied, "You could try to tell them they're in the wrong place."

"Right, because clearly this is all just a misunderstanding! We'll laugh about this later!" Alistair's face quickly sobered. "At any rate, we need to hurry! We need to get up to the top of the tower and light the signal fire in time: Teyrn Loghain will be waiting for the signal!"

The second floor armory was as much a blood-soaked hell as the first floor had been. The group was set upon by a pack of Genlocks as they entered. After hacking their way through the short beasts, the Wardens and their companions slammed through another door to find the tower's kennels. A number of mabari war hounds were trapped inside their cages while a group of Genlocks, led by an Alpha, took pot shots at the helpless dogs.

As the darkspawn saw the intruders, Blair placed a well-aimed shot at the cage release lever, freeing the dogs from their cages, and the mabaris fell upon their darkspawn tormentors like a torrent of fury. Leaving the darkspawn to the war hounds, the group raced to the staircase to the third floor, facing more Genlocks and a number of Hurlocks, but the creatures were eliminated as easily as those before them.

The group reached the staircase to the fourth floor, at which point Cormack used his abilities to summon magical flames that enshrouded their weapons. Alistair turned to the group. "Be wary," he said. "The beacon is up here, and no doubt the darkspawn will be waiting for us!"

Erin nodded and raised her twin swords. The top floor was a small circular chamber, the only notable object within it a pile of oil-soaked wood in a corner leading up a chimney to the roof of the chamber. Well… besides the mountain of muscle off to the right.

Hunched over in a corner of the chamber was a gargantuan creature unlike anything they had ever seen before. It looked like an ape of the jungles of Par Vollen, but it was much, much larger. If it stood upright, it would have towered over them at least ten feet tall. Its scarred, leathery skin was a dull blue-grey in color, with crude leather pauldrons, bracers and greaves tied to its muscular frame and limbs. The monster's head lifted the sound of their approach, and swung round to face them. Its ugly, ape-like face was crested with an crown of curling stag-like horns. The monster's expression contorted into a snarl of rage, its wide mouth baring fangs yellow with decay and corruption. Its gaping maw dripped blood from the remains of what Erin thought was one of the tower's guards. As Erin watched, the beast raised a boulder-sized fist to its mouth to wipe the blood aside, its small, beady eyes narrowed in feral hate as it glowered at them.

"By the Stone!" Erin heard Garik fearfully murmur. "An ogre..!" Erin's blood run cold. She'd heard stories of the ferocious ogres that prowled the wild, desolate places of Ferelden, killing and feeding on anything unlucky enough to cross their path, but she'd never realized they were darkspawn. The ogre rose to its full height, beating its immense fists on its broad, muscular and scarred chest as it roared a challenge.

The group began to fan out, moving wide to encircle the beast and attack it from all directions. "Use caution here!" Erin heard Alistair warn "This thing's going to take a lot of work to put down..."

His warning was interrupted as the ogre roared, lowered its head and charged like a bull straight at Alistair. The man saw the danger and leapt away, the ogre's charge causing it to miss the warrior and slam into the chamber's wall. Wilhelm put a crossbow bolt in its right shoulder and Cormack lashed it with a stream of magical fire, but such attacks did little more than enrage the darkspawn. It turned towards the mage, swinging out with a massive fist, and Cormack went flying through the air.

Blair took advantage to attack the ogre from behind, stabbing her wicked daggers into the back of the monster's right leg, hoping to sever its hamstrings and cripple it. The daggers bit deep into the flesh of the ogre's leg, but not deep enough. As Blair pulled her blades free to attack again, the ogre bellowed in pained fury and kicked out backwards, its clawed foot catching Blair in the chest and sending her flying. Blair gave a winded gasp, but to her relief, nothing seemed to be broken as her cuirass had taken the brunt of the blow.

Wilhelm realized what she'd been trying to do and put down his crossbow, drawing a mace from his belt and attacking the beast from behind. The ogre saw him coming and lashed out at him with its fist, but as it swung, Garik leapt into the air and sank his blades into the ogre's wrist, stabbing deep and holding on. The ogre howled in furious pain as it shook its right arm, desperately trying to shake the dwarf off, but Garik held on for dear life, cursing his stupidity loudly.

The others took advantage of the darkspawn's distraction; Alistair, Erin and Wilhelm hacked and chopped at the beast's chest, drawing blood and pulverizing flesh, Cormack lashed it with bolts of magic fired from his staff, while Blair leapt back to her feet and charged the ogre once more, continuing to hack at the beast's wounded leg.

The monster kicked out again, but Blair nimbly dodged aside and kept hacking. Three heavy slashes brought the beast down to one knee in a spray of tainted blood as its tendons were severed, but it continued to fight on, trying to throw off Garik. As it finally managed to force the rogue to release his grip on its arm, the ogre seized the dwarf in its meaty right fist, drawing back its left to pummel him into a pulp, when Erin slashed her swords down heavily, then striking upwards with them, slashing her blades twice through the ogre's face, splitting its snout and brow in a spray of dark blood.

The ogre staggered back and lost its balance on its injured leg up, throwing out its arms in a desperate attempt to regain its balance, and Erin seized her chance; springing into the air, she leapt and stabbed her right-hand sword into the ogre's shoulder to secure herself. Her full weight slammed into the ogre's chest, sending it toppling like a felled tree as the sudden impact threw it even further off balance. The ogre screamed as Erin wrenched her sword free from its shoulder; it reached out in a final gesture with a clawed fist, trying to seize and crush the Grey Warden, but before it could, Erin reversed her sword and used her full weight to drive the sword and its twin down into the ogre's brow. The darkspawn shrieked in pain as the sharp steel blades punched through the bones of its skull. The monster's screams petered out into a rasping death rattle as a final breath escaped its fanged mouth, its white eyes widening and going blank as life fled its tainted corpse. The ogre's outstretched claws limply fell back and it slumped to the floor, dead at last.

Garik gave a relieved sigh, wiping sweat from his brow as he realized the battle was won. He walked over to the Ogre's arm and pulled his blades free from the ogre's skin.

Alistair gestured to the pile of firewood, and Erin realized that while their fight was over, the battle below wasn't. "Light the beacon! We've surely missed the signal, so let's light it quickly before it's too late!"

Erin nodded and ran over to the pile of firewood, burying the Cousland sword, still wreathed in magical fire, into the pile. The oil-soaked wood quickly caught light and the fire spread, igniting the beacon. Erin grinned; within a matter of minutes, Loghain and his men would see the signal and come charging to Cailan's aid, hitting the darkspawn's flank and sending them into disarray. With a triumphant smile at their successful completion of their task, Erin and Alistair pulled out the telescopes they'd been given and headed to one of the chamber's windows to watch the victory.

What followed was nothing short of carnage. But it was not the carnage any of them had expected to see.

Loghain looked up at the beacon, hearing a rousing cheer coming from Cailan's army fighting in the valley, no doubt eagerly awaiting the reinforcements to come crashing into the darkspawn's flank. Turning to the dark haired woman at his right, Ser Cauthrien, his loyal second in command. He could see an eager anticipation in her eyes; no doubt she was eager to get her sword wet with darkspawn blood. Sadly, she was going to be disappointed. Loghain opened his mouth to give orders, but not the one any of his men either expected, or wanted to hear. "Sound...the retreat."

Cauthrien's dark eyes widened in confusion and shock, as though she hadn't heard, or she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "But what about the king?" she protested. "Should we not...?"

"Do as I command!" Loghain tersely snapped, seizing Cauthrien's forearm. The woman stared at him in amazement but she quickly recognized the sorrow in his blue eyes.

Cauthrien pulled her arm free of Loghain's grasp. Her shoulders slumped as she turned away.

"Pull out!" Loghain heard his lieutenant snap. "All of you, let's move!" There were mutterings of discontent, uncertainty and even anger from among the ranks,

As he too turned to join them, Loghain spared one last look at the Tower of Ishal. He felt a pang of regret at what he was doing; abandoning the king, a man who'd been like his own son, the child of his greatest friends, along with so many brave sons and daughters of Ferelden, valiantly fighting for their homes.

His last act before joining his men in retreat was to sigh to himself, thinking of the Warden Cousland. He had spoken so passionately at the war council. He even had Loghain himself believing his words. But the signal had come far too late. No doubt the Wardens sent to the tower were dying at this very moment. So much potential… wasted…

Conrí slashed his sword through the neck of another Hurlock. The Warden Lieutenant was fighting back to back with King Cailan, and both men knew their situation was dire. Their charge had caught the darkspawn off guard, but a second wave of the monsters charged from the trees and hit the king's men hard, and slowly but surely, the darkspawn had driven the army back into the valley. The mages and archers had slowed the darkspawn's onslaught, allowing the infantry companies to battle a disciplined fighting retreat back to the valley, but now the battle had soon devolved into a frenzied melee as men and women desperately fought for their lives against the never-ending tide of monsters. Sporadic volleys of arrows were loosed by a few ragged units of archers who'd managed to retreat back to the camp, where they could fire down on the darkspawn from above.

Serena parried the blade of another Hurlock and delivered a vicious kick to the darkspawn's chest, sending it staggering back. She chanced a look upwards: at the top of the Tower of Ishal, a great fire was burning and Serena allowed herself a thin smile; Alistair and the others had succeeded. Her smile vanished as she realized the darkspawn were still driving on into the valley, and there was no sign of a second force hitting them in the flank: Loghain's men weren't coming.

_Where are you!_ she cursed. _Damn you, old fool, we need help!_

Behind her, King Cailan slashed the sword of his father had given him across the midsection of a Hurlock, all but cutting it in half, before knocking the scimitar from the hand of a second. Before it could recover, Cailan seized the darkspawn by its sword arm, ran it through and then kicked the Hurlock off his blade with a booted foot. All around them, men and women were fighting bravely to the last against their monstrous foes; Tira hacked off a Hurlock's head with her longsword and smashed the jaw of a Genlock with the pommel of her short sword. Tristan was freezing Hurlocks and Genlocks by the dozens.

Duncan himself desperately parried another attack from the Hurlock he'd booted in the chest, then shouldered it to the floor, desperately trying to fight down a rising tide of an emotion he hadn't felt in years.

Panic.

It didn't matter how bravely they fought or how many they killed; in a battle of attrition, the darkspawn simply had more numbers than they did. Duncan desperately scanned the skies, looking for what seemed now like the only way to end the battle, but to his despair, there was no sign of the archdemon-no draconic roar, no beating of leathery wings. Clearly the dragon was content to let its minions do its bidding without committing itself to the field.

Suddenly Duncan and Conrí felt a surge through the taint. Something… massive was approaching quickly. They had both been so distracted by the darkspawn troops, they hadn't noticed it though the ocean of taint.

Duncan whirled round, but to his disappointment, the approaching danger was regrettably not the archdemon, but the hulking blue form of an ogre. Duncan desperately tried to stab at the ogre's chest, to drive his sword into its heart before it tore its way through the already crumbling army, but to his surprise, the ogre got him first, slamming a fist like a boulder into his side. Duncan felt ribs break as his plate armor crumpled under the blow, the ogre's punch sending him flying through the air to land badly on the wet, blood-soaked ground. Looking up, winded by the blow, Duncan could only watch in horror as the ogre advanced on Cailan and Conrí. Like himself, Duncan's lieutenant was batted aside like a fly. The young man landed heavily, obviously winded, though his cuirass had taken the brunt of the blow.

The king of Ferelden stabbed out, catching the monster a glancing blow on its arm, but the beast retaliated by seizing Cailan in its right claw, lifting him up to its face, growling at him with unthinking feral rage. Cailan showed no fear as the ogre held him up and roared angrily in his face. The young, brave king of Ferelden gasped only once as the ogre cruelly tightened the grip of its meaty fist.

King Cailan died instantly. The ogre toyed with his corpse briefly, as though considering feeding, then seemed to lose interest and tossed the broken body aside, the armored corpse flattening two soldiers as it hit the ground less than a meter from Duncan. The old Warden could only stare disbelievingly at the broken form of the brave young king, who had trusted him, aided him..._believed _in him. _And I failed him. Maker forgive me, I've failed all Ferelden!_

The ogre's roar brought Duncan out of his self-pity. The monster's roar sounded almost triumphant, as if it gloried in its act of killing. The sound caused Duncan's grief to melt into fury. Leaping to his feet and ignoring the lancing pain from his broken ribs, Duncan hurled himself at the ogre. His sword was gone from his hands, but he had another weapon: a silverite dagger of Antivan make, given to him years ago by an old friend.

With a roar of mad rage, grief and hate, Duncan sprinted straight at his enemy. The large darkspawn saw him coming and bellowed a challenge, but Duncan was already in midair by then, his knifes stabbing for the ogre's chest. The daggers bit deep and the ogre howled in pain as Duncan's weight drove them deeper into the monster's sternum. _I hope it hurts, you ugly, tainted bastard!_

Duncan drew the left blade free and stabbed it back in, then stabbed with the right, drawing blood from deep wounds each time he struck. Finally, with a hateful scream, Duncan drove both blades to the hilt in the ogre's heart. With a plaintive howl of pain, the ogre toppled backwards, Duncan riding its corpse to the ground as it fell slain. He allowed himself a moment of victory, then gasped in pain, doubling over as his heavily injured body made him pay for that moment.

Slowly forcing himself off the ogre's gigantic corpse, Duncan all but crawled over to Cailan's body. The king of Ferelden lying in a sprawled, mangled heap inches away. Duncan didn't bother to check for a pulse; no one could have survived with their spine so bent.

"Calian!" Conrí had regained his footing and sprinted over to his fallen friend. "No…" he muttered. His head drooped as his face contorted into a grimace of pain. "No! DAMNIT!"

Duncan felt despair for the first time in so long. They had failed. "Conrí…" he said quietly. "I want you to take Tira, Serena and Tristan and get out of here. We've lost."

"What about you?" Serena asked as she knelt next to him.

"I will try to buy you time. Get to safety!" Duncan ordered as he used Serena's shoulder to help him stand. He picked up his sword. "Go! Now!"

Conrí looked for a moment as if he might disobey, but to Duncan's relief, he turned to Tristan. "Surana, carve us a hole out of here. We head deeper into the Wilds."

Tristan nodded and turned to the wall of darkspawn between them and the gate to the Korcari Wilds. With a roar, he unleashed a stream of ice, freezing deep into the darkspawn force. He swayed when the spell ended, only to be scooped up onto Tira's shoulder. "You're not dying on me here, Surana." Conrí and Serena lead the charge, smashing through the icy darkspawn, shattering quite a few.

Duncan watched them go before turning to greet a small number of Hurlocks that looked to end them. One was an Alpha, wielding a massive axe. The man fought valiantly but knew his time was up.

The axe fell, and so did Duncan. One brief moment of pain, that washed away the regret, the failure, the loss.

Duncan felt no fear as death claimed him. His duty was done. He could finally know peace.

The Wardens on the tower could only watch as the horrific spectacle unfolded below them.

Erin barely heard Alistair yell in pained grief as Duncan fell. Erin simply felt numb. Another person that she knew torn away by the enemy of everything she held dear.

Soon enough, Erin could hear the howling shrieks and bellows of the darkspawn, accompanied by the footfalls of feet running upstairs. Erin raised her swords. With a bellowed war cry, Erin broke into a run at the door, flanked by Garik, Blair and Alistair, hoping to cut down as many darkspawn as possible before they fell, but Erin never got the chance. At the dull twang of bowstrings being loosed she felt incredible pain as a volley of arrows fired almost point-blank smashed her from her feet.

Pierced in the chest, shoulders and torso, Erin fell to the floor, blood leaking from arrow wounds that would certainly prove fatal. She tried to force herself back to her feet to fight on, but her body no longer answered her will. She heard the clang of metal on metal as Alistair and the others desperately made their own last stands, but her hearing began to fade away…

Her last thought before what was surely death claimed her was regret that once again, she had failed. Her family would never be avenged. Howe would never be held to account for his crimes. And now, Ferelden was surely lost to the darkspawn.

Darkness enveloped her, and Erin Cousland knew no more.

_AN: I know, i know. I hate cliffhangers too, but i didn't do this on purpose. I still need a little work time on chapter 12, but it should be up some time tonight. If not, i'll have it up tomorrow. ~Sin_


	12. Aftermath

Chapter 12 Aftermath

Deep in the Wilds

Conrí struck his flints against each other over a pile of kindling, trying to light a fire. The group had gotten deep into the Wilds, managing to avoid the darkspawn with Conrí's help. Tristan was laying off to the side, exhausted and on the verge of passing out. Tira was looking over Tsume for any wounds she might have missed. The wolf had sustained her share of injuries during the battle and afterwards.

Serena however was pacing just outside the main camp, growling and swearing to herself. "Sodding old bastard… picked the perfect time to retreat, right when we needed him!" she lashed out, kicking a rusted helmet deeper into the forest.

"Enough!" Conrí barked. "You need to calm down."

"Calm down?!" Serena snarled. "In case you haven't noticed, Lieutenant, we're the last Wardens in this Stone forsaken country! And the man who was supposed to answer the signal quit the field! That's twice in as many months I've seen a betrayal."

"Don't think you were the only one who suffers from this, Aeducan," Conrí growled, his eyes flashing.

His words were like a slap to Serena's face. Just before the battle, Conrí had lost most of his family and friends. "I… you're right… I'm sorry."

"Forget it," Conrí said. "We need to figure out where we go from here."

"Ah, so this is what was causing such a racket so deep in the Wilds," said a smooth voice from just behind the tree line. Conrí immediately dropped his flints and snatched up his sword. "Do not be alarmed. I mean no harm." A young woman in tattered black robes strode easily out of the forest.

"Who are you?" Conrí growled, fingering the hilt of his claymore.

"Morrigan?" Tira asked.

"You remember me?" Morrigan chuckled. "I am flattered, Warden."

"You know this woman?" Conrí asked, relaxing slightly.

"Her mother was the one with the scrolls," Serena informed him.

"Well, the only question is," Conrí turned back to Morrigan. "Why are you here now?"

"A man and his subordinates wander through my home and he wonders why I am here?" Morrigan asked with an evil smile.

"Do not test me, woman," Conrí growled. "I am in no mood for word games."

"Very well. I believe my mother has something else you are looking for."

"And that would be?"

"The rest of the group that came into the Wilds a few nights ago, of course."

Serena's eyes widened. "They're alive? All of them?"

"All but the cowardly rouge and the knight. As they are not with you, I assume they were lost beforehand?" Morrigan asked.

"They… died before the battle," Conrí told her.

"Ah. I see. My condolences for what it is worth. I will assume you will want to see them?"

"Yes. Would you be so kind as to lead us to them?" Conrí asked.

"Another sensible request," Morrigan praised. "Mother's hut is this way. 'Tis not far."

Consciousness slowly came back to Erin. The first thing she noticed was a dull pain in her back. She was laying on something sturdy, but decidedly uncomfortable. Her eyes cracked open making her flinch at the unexpected light shining through the small window across from her.

"Ah, your eyes finally open," said a familiar voice. "Mother will be pleased."

Erin's eyes snapped open, her hand immediately groping for her weapon, but it was nowhere to be found. She sat up as she recognized the young woman standing next to her bed, if the pile of pelts in a rough wooden frame could be called a bed. "I remember you… the woman from the Wilds…" she muttered, her voice cracking from lack of use and need of water. Morrigan handed her a skin and Erin drank eagerly.

"I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten. And we are in the Wilds, where I am bandaging your wounds," Morrigan gestured to the wraps around her arms and lower torso. "You are welcome by the way. How does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother's rescue?"

Erin shook her head as she swallowed. "I remember being overwhelmed by darkspawn… then… nothing."

"Mother managed to save you and your friends, but 'twas a close call. What is important is that you all live. The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend… he is not taking it well."

"My friend?" Erin asked, taking another drink to quench her parched throat. "Alistair?"

"The suspicious, dim-witted one who was with you before? Yes," Morrigan confirmed. "He and the rest of your fellows are outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke."

"What of the other Wardens?"

"All dead, save your group and the handful I found in the Wilds a number of days ago. One in particular I had never met. 'Tis odd… does he have some relation to you? You and he share the same eyes."

"Is he about this much taller than me," Erin gestured a number of inches above her head. "Wearing heavy plate and a claymore?" Morrigan nodded at Erin's question. "Then, yes. He is my brother, Conrí."

"I see. 'Tis rare for siblings to both join the Grey Wardens is it not?"

"I'm not sure. I suspect it would be, though, considering. Were my injuries severe?"

"Yes, but I expect you shall be fine. The darkspawn did nothing mother could not heal."

"Why does your mother want to see me, anyway?"

"I do not know. She rarely tells me her plans."

Erin sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't keep her waiting. Was my armor salvageable?"

"There were a few small holes, but your dwarven friend managed to patch it up. He is rather handy with a set of tools. Your armor is in that chest with the rest of your belongings," Morrigan pointed to a large metal chest in the corner of the room.

Erin quickly threw her armor on and belted her swords. She was quite amazed at how little soreness she felt. But then she tasted the slight sweetness of elfroot. Likely, Morrigan had steeped a few leaves briefly in the water skin.

The last thing she donned was her crystal medallion. She was amazed the fragile looking thing was still in one piece. _Magic,_ she decided, noting the runes carved into the sides.

As she exited the hut, Erin heard another, all too familiar voice. "See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."

Alistair turned around to look at Erin, and an expression of joyful relief spread across his haggard, tired face as he saw his companion, though looking a little worse for wear, was still with him. "You...you're alive! I was certain you were dead!"

"It takes more than a few darkspawn to kill me," Erin told him. "I thought you would have learned that by now."

"Duncan's dead. The Grey Wardens, even the king, they're all...dead." Alistair took a shuddering breath, as if trying to regain control of his tangled emotions and continued. "This doesn't seem possible. If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower!"

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad," the old woman grumbled, her tone bristling with annoyance.

Alistair turned to her, his expression contrite and his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I didn't mean to offend...but what do we call you? You never told us your name."

The old woman ran a hand through her matted grey hair and shrugged disinterestedly. "Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

"_The_ Flemeth!" Alistair questioned her. "From the legends? Daveth was right...you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?."

"And what does that mean!" Flemeth snapped curtly. "I know some magic, and it has served you well, has it not?"

"So why did you save us?" Blair asked from her place near the fire where she was cleaning her nails with the tip of her belt knife.

Flemeth chuckled dryly. "Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn. It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

"It changed when most of them were slaughtered," Tristan said sourly.

"If you think small numbers make us helpless, Surana," said Conrí, dropping a pile of firewood next to the hut. "Then you're already done." He came forward to stand in front of Erin. After making sure she was indeed whole he smiled slightly. "It's good to see you back with us, sister."

"Good to be back," Erin smiled back.

"Why would Loghain do this?" Alistair snapped as the siblings rejoined the conversation.

"Now that is a good question," Flemeth said somewhat sadly. "The hearts of men hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps the old general believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind the Blight is the true threat."

"The archdemon," Alistair growled.

Tristan snorted as he stood. "The idiot and the noble brat are the real Grey Wardens here, not me," he said.

Conrí glared at the elven mage. "If that's how you feel, Surana, then you can go back to your tower. I'll be sure to tell Irving how you failed as a Warden." Tristan bristled.

"We have to do something!" Alistair shouted. "I won't let the others' deaths be in vain!"

"What is this archdemon, exactly?" Erin asked.

"It is said that, long ago, the Maker sent the Old Gods of the ancient Tevinter Imperium to slumber prisons deep beneath the surface. An archdemon is an Old God awakened and tainted by darkspawn. Believe that or not, history says it is a fearsome and immortal thing. And only fools ignore history."

"We should contact the rest of the Grey Wardens," Tira spoke for the first time since Erin had awoken.

"Cailan already summoned them," Alistair told her. "They'll come if they can. But I expect Loghain has already taken steps to stop them. We must assume they won't arrive in time."

"What could that old coot hope to gain by abandoning the king?" Garik asked as he sharpened his blades.

"The throne? He's the queen's father…"

"Unlikely," Conrí rumbled. "He had the perfect opportunity five years ago when Maric disappeared. Many advocated for him, but he refused."

"If Arl Eamon knew what he did, he would never stand for it! The Landsmeet would never stand for it! There would be civil war!"

"Eamon?" Erin snorted. "What is that old bastard good for?"

"I know him!" Alistair insisted, either not hearing or choosing to ignore Erin's scornful tone. "He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet. Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help."

"Keep in mind," Blair pointed out. "That Loghain was also an honorable man."

"The arl would never do what Teyrn Loghain did," Alistair protested. "I know him too well."

Conrí rolled his eyes. "Yeah," he muttered. "He'd just leave Loghain and half of Fereldan to die just to get rid of 'that up-jumped commoner.'"

"I still don't know if Arl Eamon's help would be enough. He can't defeat the darkspawn horde by himself."

Conrí sighed and strode towards Alistair. "You can be truly thick sometimes," he said, tapping the former Templar on the head with a scroll. Alistair's eyes widened.

"OF COURSE! The treaties! The Grey Wardens can demand aid from elves, dwarves, mages and other places! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!"

Flemeth raised an eyebrow. "I may be old, but elves, dwarves, mages, this Arl Eamon and who knows what else…this sounds like an army to me!"

Alistair nodded and then turned to Conrí. "So can we do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places and…build an army?"

"Whoa!" Garik broke in. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Take one step at a time," Flemeth agreed. "But it is not so bad to know where those steps will lead you, yes?"

"It's always been the duty of the Grey Wardens to stand against the Blight. And right now, _we're_ the Grey Wardens!" Alistair replied confidently, gesturing to himself and the others.

Flemeth nodded approvingly and looked at them appraisingly. "So you are set then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

"Yes," Conrí nodded. "Thank you for everything Flemeth.

"No, no, thank you. You are the Grey Wardens here, not I. Now… before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you."

"The stew is bubbling on the fire, mother dear," Morrigan told Flemeth as she rejoined them. "Shall we have eight guests for the eve, or none?"

"The Grey Wardens will be leaving shortly, girl…and you will be joining them."

"Such a shame…" Morrigan began, her voice dripping with sweet sarcasm, until her mother's words permeated into her brain. Her eyes went wide with shock and she whirled on her mother, looking outraged. "WHAT!"

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears!" Flemeth laughed, unabashed at her daughter's annoyance.

Conrí decided to be diplomatic: he had no wish to offend Flemeth by turning aside her offer, but Morrigan clearly wasn't too enthusiastic about it. "Thank you, but if Morrigan doesn't wish to accompany us…" he began, but Flemeth cut across his polite attempt to smooth things.

"Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds, and how to get past the horde," the old woman replied.

"Have _I_ no say in this!" Morrigan snapped at Flemeth.

Flemeth looked round, an eyebrow raised as though she didn't understand what her daughter was protesting about. "You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. _Here_ is your chance. As for you, Grey Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

"She'd better be as useful as you say," Serena muttered.

Flemeth gave her a sly smile. "Oh, she is. You could do with some magic, and my Morrigan's as cunning as a root lizard."

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth but…won't this_ add_ to our problems?" Alistair added, looking uncertain at the offer. "Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

Flemeth fixed the former Templar with a beady eye. "If you do not wish help from us _illegal_ mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you atop that tower!"

"Point taken," Alistair conceded, chastised.

Morrigan, meanwhile, turned to her mother and Conrí was surprised to hear an almost pleading tone in her voice, something he would never have expected the girl, so confident and sharp-tongued, to use. "Mother, this is not how I wanted this. I'm _not_ ready…!"

Flemeth's answer was sympathetic but firm. "You _must_ be ready. Alone, they must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They _need_ you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight…even I."

Morrigan made to protest further, then gave a resigned sigh and murmured in a defeated whisper. "I…I understand."

Flemeth nodded approvingly, and then turned to the others. "And you, Wardens? Do _you _understand? I give you that which I value above all else in this world. I do this because you _must _succeed!"

"I understand," Conrí bluntly replied.

"Allow me to get my things, if you please," said Morrigan curtly. She returned into the house briefly, re-emerging with her wooden staff in hand, a leather backpack at her feet and a long, thick travelling cloak made of what looked to be wolf fur wrapped around her slender frame. "I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village just north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far and you will find much you need there…or if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours."

"No, I prefer you speak your mind," Conrí replied: there was no point making an enemy of a potential ally.

Morrigan smiled slightly at this, only for it to become a scowl when Flemeth laughed and cut in mockingly. "You _will_ regret saying that!"

"Dear _sweet_ mother," Morrigan hissed."You are so kind to cast me out like so! How _fondly _I shall remember this moment!"

Flemeth shrugged her shoulder, unconcerned and unabashed at her daughter's anger. "Well, I always say if you want something done, do it yourself…or hear about it for a decade or two afterwards!" she finished with a low chuckle.

At this point, Conrí felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked round to see Alistair looking at him uncertainly, as though unsure whether what they were doing was a good thought. "Do you _really_ want to take her along because her mother says so?"

Conrí shrugged. "We need all the help we can get."

Alistair nodded acceptingly at this logic. "I suppose you're right. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies wherever they could find them."

"I am so _pleased_ to have your approval." Morrigan sneered.

"I have some questions, before we set off," Conrí put forward.

Morrigan nodded. "I may have answers. Ask."

"I've been to the village you speak of. Is there any reason for us to go to Lothering?" Conrí asked.

"I mention it for its tavern, where travelers gather with news. Beyond that, 'tis close and I know the way."

"What skills do you have?"

"I know a few spells, though I am nowhere near as powerful as Mother. I have also studied history, and your Grey Warden treaties." Morrigan answered.

"Can you cook?" Alistair questioned with a glib smile.

Morrigan scowled and raised an eyebrow. "I…can cook, yes."

"Then you can substitute for Alistair," Garik inserted.

"Right. My cooking will kill us. That's all I meant."

"I also know at least fifteen different poisons that grow right here in this swamp. Not that I would suggest it is in any way related to cooking!" Morrigan added, finishing with a mockingly innocent smile.

Conrí looked at her and then asked, "And how are your skills going to help us evade the darkspawn?"

At this, Morrigan gave an enigmatic smile and nodded in the direction of Alistair. "I think the _real_ question is how we're going to get you and your friend past the darkspawn, is it not?"

Erin looked round and saw Alistair looking rather uneasy at this. She gave her fellow a questioning look and Alistair nodded pensively. "She has the right of it. We can sense the darkspawn, but conversely…they can sense us."

"I don't feel any darkspawn" Erin replied.

Conrí shook his head. "You won't, not right away. It takes time."

"This is hardly reassuring…." Tristan muttered sullenly.

"We should be able to sneak past smaller groups, but larger ones or particularly intelligent darkspawn will always detect us," Alistair answered in a placating tone.

"Mother has given me something else for them to 'smell' as we pass by," Morrigan added. "However, it is important we head out of the Wilds, not further in!"

"The darkspawn are camped further in the forest?" Erin asked

Morrigan shook her head. "They come from underground, like an eruption. They broke through deep within the forest, and that is where they will be most concentrated."

Conrí nodded. "Very well, if that's the case, we'll want to get under way as soon as possible."

Morrigan nodded in agreement and turned to face Flemeth. "Farewell, Mother. Do not forget the stew on the fire: I would hate to return to a burned down hut!"

Flemeth snorted at this. "Bah! 'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, _along_ with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight!"

At this, Morrigan looked hurt for the first time. "I…all I meant was…" she stammered.

Flemeth nodded understandingly. "Yes, I know. Do try to have fun, dear!" she finished with a soft smile.

As the group followed Morrigan through the Wilds, Tira and Blair fell into step with her. "Have you ever been outside the Wilds?" Tira asked. The witch nodded.

"From time to time," she said. "I have been to the village, watched its people and pondered what curious beings they are. On occasion, I purchased goods from the village merchants. There I spoke with men, a little. There they stared and knew me as an outsider. Mother wishes for me to expand the horizon of my experience beyond the Wilds. Even she was not born here."

"Is that what you want?" Blair asked.

"What I _want_ is to see mountains. I wish to witness the ocean and step into its waters. I want to experience a city rather than see it in my mind. So… yes, this is what I want. Actually leaving is… harder than I thought, however. Perhaps Mother is right; it must simply be done quickly."

"The ocean is quite the thing to behold," Conrí told her. "All sons and daughters of Highever are born on the ocean, so Erin and I have more than enough experience with it."

"Highever…" Morrigan pondered. "That is the town on the shores of the Waking Sea, no?"

"It is," Erin agreed. "On a clear day you can just see the islands off the coast of Kirkwall."

"I don't recommend going there," Conrí advised.

"Why is that?" Morrigan asked.

"Kirkwall is ruled by the Templars in all but name," Erin said. "The city's nickname is enough to keep me away. They call it the City of Chains."

"Their Viscount is weak and doesn't dare contradict Knight-Commander Meredith," Conrí went on. "But the worst thing has to be Kirkwall's Circle. The Gallows."

"That sounds… ominous…" Morrigan muttered.

"It was once a prison in the days of the old Tevinter empire, holding slaves who had been brought to work the quarries."

"Fitting, then," Morrigan chuckled darkly. "For it now to be a prison for mages."

The group made their way through the marshes of the Korcari wilds. Garik and Serena complained frequently about the insects chewing on them, having never come across mosquitoes and such. A few days passed and they finally left the Wilds behind them and made their way through the hinterlands, avoiding larger Darkspawn patrols thanks to Conrí and Alistair's sense of them.

As they neared Lothering, Conrí called a halt. "More 'spawn?" Serena asked. Conrí nodded. "How many?"

"Few enough that we can handle them."

"Excellent," Serena growled, grinning fiercely. "I've been wanting to get some payback on those bastards."

Barking was heard off in the distance. The group looked up to see a mabari running towards them. The hound came up to Blair and barked several times in warning.

Coming over a nearby hill was a huge number of darkspawn in a tight formation and led by an alpha Hurlock. Conrí, Alistair, Erin and Serena immediately charged, cutting through the darkspawn. Garik quickly followed, his daggers flashing dangerously. Tira, Blair and Tristan hung back, pelting the Hurlocks with arrows and spells.

The alpha Hurlock charged at the group in a mad effort to kill one of them. The dog flashed past Blair, grabbing the Hurlock's neck and jerking his head back. A loud snapping sound echoed through the clearing. The darkspawn was dead.

Once the battle was over, the dog walked up to Blair and wagged his tail. "I think this is the dog I helped cure at Ostagar," she said, kneeling in front of the large animal.

"I think he was out there looking for you," Alistair theorized. "He has chosen you… mabari are like that."

"Told you," Conrí grunted as he wiped blood from his blade.

"Does that mean that this mangy beast will be following us about now? Wonderful," Morrigan stated in disgust.

"He's not mangy!" Alistair barked at Morrigan, seemingly trying to improve his relationship with the dog.

"Trying keep from getting bitten, Alistair?" Conrí snickered, remembering Alistair's not-so-pleasant first meeting with Koun.

"No… well maybe a little," Alistair admitted before he started to mumble to himself. "You think that I act like I was raised by wild dogs from the Anderfells. But no, I somehow usually piss them off."

"Maybe it has to do with your annoying attitude," Morrigan suggested.

"I always wanted a dog," Blair said, scratching the mabari's ears. "Maybe it was meant to be. But what to name you?"

"Why not Kiba?" Tira suggested.

"Kiba, I like it," Blair commented. "How about you? You like it, Kiba?" The dog answered with barking and jumping around happily. "Kiba it is."


	13. The Sister and the Sten

Chapter 13 The Sister and the Sten

Landsmeet Chamber, Royal Palace, Denerim

"And I expect each of you to supply these men; we must rebuild what was lost at Ostagar, and quickly!" Loghain cried to the assembled listeners. "There are those who would take advantage of our weakened state if we let them; we must defeat this darkspawn incursion, but we must do so _sensibly_ and without hesitation!"

Suddenly, a rich, firm voice called out from the crowd below. "Your Lordship, if I might speak?"

Anora looked down at the speaker simultaneously with her father; it was a man in his early thirties, with shoulder-length reddish-brown hair, a long braid of which curled around his left brow and rested behind his ear, with a short beard and piercing brown eyes. Unlike the other men and women in the hall, who were dressed in robes, tunics and dresses of finely cut silks in a variety of colors, this lord was clad in functional heavy chainmail forged of red steel, with a longsword of the same metal sheathed at his waist.

Anora recognized him: Bann Teagan Guerrin, the Bann of Rainsefere and one of Cailan's uncles on his mother's side. Anora couldn't see Teagan's older brother, Eamon, present here, a fact that unsettled her. _Surely Eamon would be present to decide what happens to Ferelden in the wake of his nephew's death!_ She noticed several of the lords present were also scanning the crowd, looking for Eamon in the wake of his brother's call; Eamon surely would have been the first to question her father's intentions.

Eamon was not the only noticeable absentee from the meeting; the loss of Bryce Cousland still sat ill with many. Before Loghain had made his report about Ostagar, Rendon Howe had been called to account for the attack his forces had led on Highever. Howe had said he had found irrefutable proof that Bryce had intended to betray Ferelden to Orlais, and Howe had assaulted Highever to bring the traitor to justice. Howe also claimed that he had only intended to arrest Bryce, but the teyrn of Highever had refused to come quietly and been killed in the attack.

In any case, with Bryce and Eleanor dead at Highever, and both their sons and only daughter believed to have perished at Ostagar, there was no one present to challenge the accusations. Even so, many had muttered discontentedly, and a few had even booed when her father named Howe new teyrn of Highever, as well as the new arl of Denerim, replacing Arl Urien, who'd tragically gone to meet the Maker at Ostagar also. Even so, the loss of two prominent nobles, both of whom would have challenged what her father was doing, and would have a large following in doing so, sat ill with Anora. She couldn't help but wonder, _Did you have a hand in this, Father?_

Her discontent was pushed to the back of her mind as her father motioned for Teagan to speak. "You have declared yourself Queen Anora's regent, and claim we must unite under your banner for our own good... but what of the army lost at Ostagar? Your withdrawal was most..._fortuitous._"

There was a collective gasp of shock and outrage at this from the surrounding nobles, and Anora saw Loghain stiffen, his face turning white and contorting into a grimace of outrage as he took in the not-so thinly veiled accusation. _He shouldn't be surprised_ Anora mused; the Wardens and Cailan had gone down fighting, and that Loghain had deserted, abandoning Cailan and his army to their deaths. Most had initially dismissed it as scaremongering by malcontents, but the rumor was becoming more and more widespread, especially from among her father's soldiers. It didn't surprise her that Teagan would bring this up; the Bann had been very close with his nephew, but to make so blatant an accusation...

"_Everything_ I have done has been to secure Ferelden's independence," Loghain growled. "I have not shirked my duty to the throne, and _neither_ will any of you!"

"The Bannorn will not bow to you, simply because you _demand_ it!" Teagan snapped.

The old teyrn glowered at his rival and snarled in a deadly tone of voice. "Understand this; I will brook no threat to this nation, from you or _anyone_!" With that, her father turned on his heel and stormed out of the chamber. Anora looked down at the departing crowd as the meeting adjourned, and she could hear the whispers as they left; none of them were satisfied.

"Demanding our allegiance! Outrageous!" Anora heard one noblewoman complain.

One of her companions nodded and disgustedly added "Who does he think he is, _Meghren_? This behavior is an affront to _everything _we fought the Orlesians for!"

Anora knew she had to end this, before real damage was done. Looking round, she saw her target, walking towards the exit, surrounded by a crowd of noblemen and women all talking to him and nodding in agreement with his words, and cried out "Bann Teagan, please!"

"Your Majesty, your father risks civil war. If Eamon were here..."

Bann Teagan, my father is simply doing what is best" Anora pleaded in an aggrieved tone of voice, urging him to see sense. _Does he think me a fool? I don't like the sound of what my father intends anymore than they do, but..._surely _the darkspawn should be the priority!_

Bann Teagan shook his head in exasperation. "Did he also do _what was best_ for your husband, your Majesty?" he asked, his tone biting.

Anora felt something in her give, and she almost collapsed, reaching out to grab a railing to stop her from falling, her mind reeling at how deep Teagan's barb had cut.

Her father had commended the Grey Wardens skill and honored their sacrifice, but didn't believe in their so called Blight. He expressed remorse that Conrí Cousland had been lost, given that the lad showed such skill and passion, especially when he spoke of the reality of the Blight. "That bastard Duncan must have gotten in his head," Loghain had said.

_Unlikely_, Anora thought. Conrí was a Cousland and as cunning as they come.

More likely the Wardens knew something her father did not. It had happened before…

Conrí tossed the last body of the bandits who had been foolish enough to attack them off the side of the road. "Well, here we are," Alistair muttered. "Lothering...pretty as a painting."

"Ah, finally decided to rejoin us, have you?" Morrigan mocked. "Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble?"

"Is my being upset so hard to understand? Have you never lost anyone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?"

Morrigan gave an amused snort. "_Before_ or _after_ I stopped laughing?"

Alistair shook his head in exasperation. "Right, very creepy. Forget I asked."

"You have been very quiet," Conrí replied fairly.

Alistair nodded. "Yes, I know. I've been thinking."

"No wonder it took so long!"

"I get it; this is where we're shocked to discover you've never had a friend your entire life!"

"I can be friendly when I desire to. Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so." Morrigan replied with an unconcerned shrug.

Alistair threw Morrigan a look of disgusted exasperation then turned to face Conrí. "Anyway...I thought we should talk about where we intend to go first,"

"We need to find Fergus. He may still be alive," Erin snapped. She had toyed with the notion in the Wilds, but there had been no time to stop. But now they were able to recover themselves, she wished to try and at least ascertain what had happened to her eldest brother, the only family he had left. Alistair gave him a chagrined expression.

"He was out scouting in the Wilds, wasn't he?" Alistair asked. "That's what the king said."

"Then attempting to look for him there would be foolish," Morrigan said sharply. "He has either already managed to make it to the north...or not."

"Very sensitive," Alistair sniped.

Morrigan gave him a withering look and then turned back to Erin, her gaze sympathetic, but her tone firm and hard. "I am simply saying that it is foolish to look for this man when you have no notion where he is and the Wilds are overrun with darkspawn. You will either find him with other survivors...or not at all."

This time, it was Alistair's turn to be the diplomat. "Moving on, I think what Flemeth suggested is the best idea; using the treaties. Have you looked at them?" Conrí nodded curtly with a roll of his eyes, remembering that he had been the one to point out the use of the treaties to Alistair. "As you'll have seen, there are three main groups we have treaties with: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar and the Circle of Magi. I also still think Arl Eamon is our best bet for help; we might even want to go to him first."

Conrí snorted and shook his head. "I'd really rather not have to rely on that old man,"

"What is your issue with Eamon?" Alistair asked heatedly.

"Alistair, if I was to list all of my grievances with Eamon Guerrin, we'd be standing here until the next Age," Conrí growled.

"What about the Grey Wardens?" Blair asked, interrupting the argument. "We'll need all the help we can get against the archdemon!"

Alistair shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "Short of leaving Ferelden to seek them out, the only place to send word would be Weisshaupt Fortress, and that's thousands of miles away."

Conrí sighed reluctantly; it looked like in terms of Grey Wardens, they were going to have to make do with what they had. "Then we'd best find the people we can contact."

"I can give you directions if you like," Alistair told him.

"Where can we find Arl Eamon?" Blair asked.

"He'll be at Castle Redcliffe, in the far western part of Ferelden, next to the mountain passes. If he isn't there, someone will be able to tell us where he is."

"Won't the Circle of Magi do what the Chantry says?" Tristan asked.

"Technically, the Circle of Magi is independent," Alistair said. "We don't know that the Chantry won't support us, of course."

Conrí groaned in exasperation. "Are you really that thick? Why would they? The Chantry only supports those who can line their coffers."

"If we speak to the First Enchanter, he should see that his responsibility to the Grey Wardens supersedes anything the Chantry… or even Teyrn Loghain… might have to say about it."

"My clan has already gone to the north," Tira sighed. "We won't find them."

"There's more than one clan wandering Fereldan. If we head eastward towards the Brecilian Forest, we should hear word of another in the area."

"We've been exiled from Orzammar," Serena pointed out. "We can't go back there."

"You're going to have to," Alistair said firmly. "I certainly wouldn't want to go there alone."

"Why?" Morrigan asked with a mocking sneer. "Would it frighten you? Are you afraid of dark, sunken places, hmm?"

"I mean you won't have any choice," Alistair grumbled. "You'll be there under Grey Warden business, and the dwarves will just have to see reason."

"Reason," Garik snorted. "Right."

"And what about Loghain? I've got an overpowering urge to put something long and sharp through his head..." Serena snarled.

"If he isn't out in the field with his army, he's probably going to be at the palace in Denerim. We can go to Denerim, but somehow I suspect they aren't going to let us just walk around. Just a suspicion of course."

"Do you have anything to contribute to this, Morrigan? What would you suggest?" Erin questioned.

"Go after your enemy directly," she replied with a bloodthirsty grin. "Find this man, Loghain, and kill him. The rest of this business with the treaties can then be done in safety."

Alistair gave a loud snort. "Yes, he certainly won't see that coming! And it's not like he has the advantage of an army and experience and-!"

"I was asked for my opinion and I gave it!" Morrigan waspishly snarled back. "If your wish is to come up with reasons why something cannot be done, we will stand here until the darkspawn are upon us!"

"Enough!" Conrí snapped. "I want to hear more news of what's happening elsewhere in Ferelden before we head off. Once we have a clearer picture, I'll decide!"

"Fair enough" Alistair replied with a shrug of the shoulders. "Let's head into the village whenever you're ready."

"Blair, I want you, Morrigan, Garik and Erin to find a trader, see what we can get for the hides and what not. The rest of us will head to the tavern and find out what we can."

"Well. Look what we have here, men. I think we've just been blessed," a man of middling years strode toward

"Uh-oh," Alistair commented. "Loghain's men. This can't be good."

"Didn't we spend all morning asking people if they had seen people by this very description?" The soldier asked. "And everyone said they hadn't seen anyone resembling them."

"It seems we were lied to."

Conrí snorted. "We've arrived but a few moments ago."

"Gentlemen, surely there's no need for trouble," a vaguely familiar voice sounded from nearby. "We need not need violence over what is likely a misunderstanding." The young red haired Sister that had given Conrí and the others food during their last time in Lothering had come up to the group.

"There is no misunderstanding Sister, and we are not here to cause a disturbance. We are under the orders of Teyrn Loghain. He wanted to be informed if any Grey Wardens survived Ostagar," The commander reported as everyone gasped. "If so, they are to be escorted to Denerim for their safety."

"We appreciate Loghain's sentiments, but we have business elsewhere," Conrí explained as he pulled out the treaties. "As I have told the teyrn, we need to gather troops from these people to fight the Blight."

The commander looked them over and saw the list include the Dalish Elves, the Mages, the Dwarves, and even small groups like the Ash Warriors. "I am sorry, ser, but my orders are clear. You are to be brought to Loghain. I am sure he would be happy to know he has help against this darkspawn incursion."

"Not possible," Conrí told him with a shake of his head. "As I said, we have to gather allies for face the darkspawn. And this is no mere incursion, my friend. We have no time to be waste in Denerim."

"I'm afraid we must insist, Warden," said the commander as he and his soldiers fanned out.

Conrí lifted his head slightly, a wry grin coming over his face. "Ah. So that's how this is going to work," he said.

"Teyrn Loghain's orders," the commander grimaced.

"Well, I'm afraid you're going to have to turn around and follow Loghain back to Denerim. We don't answer to the Teyrn," Conrí straightened his bracers as he spoke. "But if you're going to insist…" he turned slightly to the Sister. "We don't need your help, miss. Please stand back, for your own safety..."

To his surprise, the Orlesian Sister gave a very unfeminine snort and laughed. "You don't need my protection, but these men will blindly follow their master's commands, even unto death."

"Try not to kill them," Conrí smirked. One of the soldiers foolishly charged, only for Conrí to stomp kick him in the upper thigh, causing the man to crumple. Conrí finished it with a low roundhouse kick to the face.

The melee ensued, the Wardens and the Sister sticking to unarmed combat. Well, Tristan used his staff to block and trip with surprising dexterity, but refrained from using magic. The fight ended with the commander under Conrí's boot. "All right, you've won! I surrender!"

"Good," the woman commented. "They've learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting, now."

Conrí snorted and lifted his foot from the soldier's chest. Before the man could get up, Conrí seized him by the neck of his cuirass, lifted him off the ground and slammed him into the wall of the tavern. "Tell me something," Conrí growled. "How many men does it take to deliver a message?"

"O-one?" the commander stuttered

"Exactly! Be thankful for you lives. And let Loghain know that sending dregs like your men is not convincing that he has good intentions."

"I'll tell him!" the commander declared fearfully. "Right away. Now. Thank you!" he gathered his men and they all retreated.

"Sorry about the mess," Conrí told the barkeep, flicking a sovereign to the middle aged man.

"They had it coming. So long as you don't cause more trouble, I won't get excited," the barkeep said.

"I apologize for interfering, but I couldn't just sit by and not help," the Sister said as she straightened her robes.

"I appreciate what you tried to do, Sister Leliana," Conrí told her.

Leliana smiled. "I'm glad you found it in your heart to offer those men mercy. I'm sorry, I never caught your name, Warden."

"I am Conrí. A pleasure."

"You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do? I know after what happened you'll need all the help you can get. That's why I'm coming along."

Conrí's eyes widened and he glanced among the other Wardens with him. "Why so eager to come with us?"

"The Maker told me to," Leliana told them, matter-of-factly.

Serena pinched the bridge of her nose as Tristan rolled his eyes and Alistair cocked his eyebrow. Tira grimaced and Conrí pressed two fingers to his brow as his eyes closed. "Can you… elaborate?" he asked warily.

"I know that sounds… absolutely insane-but it's true! I had a dream… a vision!"

"More crazy?" Alistair muttered. "I thought we were all full up."

"Look at the people here," Leliana gestured to the inhabitants of the tavern. "They are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos… will spread. The Maker doesn't want this. What you do, what you are _meant_ to do, is the Maker's work. Let me help!"

"I need more than prayers, I'm afraid," Conrí pointed out.

Leliana met the tall man's skeptical gaze with a defiant lift of her chin. "I can fight. I can do more than fight. I was not always a lay sister. I put aside that life when I came here, but now… if it is the Maker's will, I will take it up again. Gladly. Please let me help you."

Conrí looked the sister dead in the eye. After a tense moment he nodded. "Very well. I will not turn aside help when it is offered."

Leliana beamed happily. "Thank you! I appreciate being given this chance. I will not let you down."

"Warden?" A young man in splintmail armor gestured to Conrí.

"Is there something I can do for you?" he asked.

"I represent the Blackstone Irregulars," the man said. "We're a mercenary company that fell on hard times after the war with Orlais. I'm sure you know that times are getting worse every day. With your help, the Irregulars could be of use to Fereldan once more."

"Ah, yes, I've heard of you," Conrí nodded. "You fought alongside King Maric during the war with Orlais."

"Our current captain, Raelnor, is an honorable man who sees that we can do some good in Fereldan once more. He is so confident in our mission that he trusts the Grey Wardens would support us."

"How can I be of service, my friend?"

"Each of our posts in Fereldan will contain letters addressed to you. Unlike most who work with us, you're getting letters straight from Raelnor and Taoran, our leaders. I hope this tells you how highly the Irregulars regard the Grey Wardens."

"I'll take a look," Conrí promised.

"Thank you, Warden. When you've completed a mission, just return to me, or any of our members stationed at an Irregulars post. We'll make sure your efforts are rewarded. Maker's blessings light your path."

"Do you have anything besides Chantry robes and a dagger?" Tira asked, gesturing to what Leliana was wearing.

The former sister nodded. "I have armor and a bow back at the chantry. But before we head there, I have a suggestion…"

The Wardens and their companions made their way to the outskirts of Lothering. Leliana had led them to a cage just outside the main part of the village.

"You aren't one of my captors," said the man inside as Conrí approached his cage. The being's gaze grew cold and he turned away. "I will not amuse you anymore than the other humans. Leave me in peace."

"What are you?" Serena asked.

The creature pointed to the cage in which it sat and sullenly replied, as though it were obvious. "A prisoner. I'm in a cage, am I not? I've been placed here by the Chantry."

"The Revered Mother said he slaughtered an entire family...even the children," Leliana said sadly.

The tanned being nodded at Leliana and replied solemnly. "It is as she says. I am Sten of the Beresaad- the vanguard, if you will- of the Qunari people."

Conrí bowed and replied, "I am Conrí. It is a pleasure to meet you."

The Qunari's eyebrows rose in surprise, cocking his head. "You mock me...or perhaps you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands. Though it matters little now. I will die soon enough," he finished, his face becoming melancholy. At this, Koun ran forward, whining slightly. He rooted around in Conrí's pack, pulled out a cake in his teeth and pressed his head against the cage door, offering it to the Qunari. Sten smiled at the gesture and patted the dog on the snout. "Tempting, my friend but I must decline. Would you prolong your own suffering in my position?" He gently pushed Koun back and looked back at Conrí. "I suggest you leave me to my fate."

"This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped here as prey for the darkspawn," Morrigan intoned. "If you cannot think of a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone!"

"Mercy?" Alistair asked, the surprise in his voice clear. "I wouldn't have expected that from you!"

Morrigan gave a snort and added "I would suggest Alistair take his place in the cage!"

Alistair nodded sagely. "Yeah, _that's_ what I would've expected."

Conrí ignored them; in truth, he'd been thinking along the same lines as Morrigan. As with Leliana, they needed all the help they could get, and for all that people claimed the Qunari were unnatural and evil, they were renowned for being formidable warriors...

"You say you committed murder. Aren't you interested in atoning for your crimes?"

"Death will be my atonement," was the Qunari's blunt reply.

"There are other ways to atone," Serena told him.

Sten looked up at her, an eyebrow raised in surprise, as though he hadn't expected such an answer. "Perhaps… What does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?"

"You could help us defend the land against the Blight," Tira solemnly rasped.

Sten looked up at this, and Conrí saw a look of genuine interest in the Qunari's eyes. "The Blight! Are you... Grey Wardens?" in a tone Conrí wasn't used to hearing; one of respect. Unlike the people of Ferelden, who seemed to have forgotten all the Wardens had done and needed to do for them, this lone Qunari knew and understood the necessity for the Order, and respected them.

"Yes, we are," he replied.

"Surprising. My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill...though I suppose not every legend is true. Still, perhaps if you were to tell the Revered Mother who ordered me imprisoned that the Grey Wardens require my assistance, she might let me free. It seems as likely to bring about my death as waiting here."

Conrí nodded and replied, "I shall go and speak to her. Leliana, come with me; you know the Revered Mother, she'll be more than likely to listen to you. Alistair, you wait here with the others, we'll be back soon."

As they walked away from the cage, Leliana mused, "His crimes are terrible, but...to be left there to starve, or to be taken by the darkspawn? _No one_ deserves that, not even a murderer."

The pair quickly raced back to Lothering's Chantry, where with Leliana's help, they were able to secure an audience with the Revered Mother. After giving the Revered Mother a donation of ten silvers for taking the time to speak with them, Conrí put forward his request for Sten's release. The Revered Mother's tone made it clear she disapproved, fearing the Qunari might lapse and go on another bloodletting rampage the second he was let out, with Conrí's insistence and Leliana's reassurance that in his company, Sten might actually do some good, the old priestess relented and gave them a simple brass key to unlock Sten's cage.

With that, Conrí and Leliana made to leave the Chantry: as they exited, Conrí noticed something in a nearby bush that caught his eye; he quickly plucked it and hurried after Leliana back to where the others were gathered by the cage.

Moving quickly, Conrí pulled out the key and placed it in the cage's lock. "I confess, I did not think the priestess would part with it," Sten mused as the youth set him free. As the cage door swung open, Sten stepped out, stretching to his full height and rubbing life back into his cramped muscles. "And so it is done. I will follow you into battle against the Blight. In doing so, I will find my atonement," Sten pronounced solemnly.

"And if I do not lead you to your atonement?"

"Then I shall find it myself...may we proceed? I am eager to be elsewhere."

"As are we all…

Late that night, Erin and the her fellow Junior Wardens slept fitfully.

_Atop a bridge high above a canyon filled with darkspawn, Erin saw what she had expected to see; the dragon she had witnessed just after the Joining. _No_, she realized, _not a dragon, the archdemon_. The archdemon threw back its head, like a snake swaying before its charmer, and let loose an echoing roar that reverberated around the cavern, a deafening bellow of rage and hate against all life. The darkspawn howled and gibbered in answer to the monster's shrieks, like a crowd of devotees chanting in answer to a priest's sermon. The archdemon opened its fanged jaws and a pillar of fire erupted from its maw, reaching to the ceiling of the cavern. And as Erin watched, she could hear one word resounding in her mind, one word repeated over and over from the legions below..._

"Urthemiel! _Urthemiel!_ **_URTHEMIEL_**!"

_The dragon's head swiveled around when its flame extinguished itself, seeming to stare directly at Erin….._

Erin jerked awake in a cold sweat. She panted heavily as she sat up, resting her head on her upraised knees. When her breathing stabilized, she looked around, noticing the others who had Joined with her were in a similar state. Tira was paler than Erin had ever seen the Dalish elf. Blair fingered her daggers agitatedly, glancing about as if expecting an attack at any moment. Tristan appeared to be on the verge of being ill. Serena and Garik both looked alarmed, having never experienced a dream, let alone this kind of nightmare.

"Bad dreams, huh?" Erin looked over to see Alistair and Conrí sitting near the fire, sympathetic expressions on their faces. Alistair had been the first to speak, his hands holding the sword the Chanter in Lothering had given him for dealing with the requests on his board, and a whetstone. The man had called the blade Oathkeeper, something usually awarded to exceptional Templars.

"Must've been something I ate," Tristan grumbled.

"Drank, more like," Conrí pointed out. "As in the tainted blood, remember? See, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was. Hearing them."

"The archdemon, it… talks to the horde and we feel it just as they do," Alistair continued. "That's why we know this is really a Blight."

"The archdemon? Is that the dragon?" Tira asked, shivering slightly.

"I don't know if it's really a dragon, but it sure looks like one. But yes. That's the archdemon."

"It takes a bit," Conrí went on. "But eventually you can block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't."

"Anyhow," Alistair reigned in the conversation. "When we heard you lot thrashing around, we thought we should tell you; it was scary at first for us, too." Conrí nodded.

"Any other surprises we should know about?" Garik asked, rubbing his arms uncomfortably. As a dwarf, he had never dreamt before, so when confronted by visions of darkspawn as his first venture into the world of dreams, it unnerved the normally stout rogue.

"Other than dying young and the whole defeat-the-blight-alone thing?" Conrí chuckled. "No, all tapped out for surprises. Anyhow, you're all awake now, yeah. Let's get breakfast started, then pull up camp. We have a lot of ground to cover."

"Where are we headed first?" Erin asked.

"The Circle. It's closest and it should be an easy stop."

_AN: XD Ironic last line. I wanna thank my beta RomanticVoltaire for helping me get this far without screwing it up too bad, and Inclassandbored who gave my first and so far only review. In answer to that, I plan on keeping important parts of the in game dialogue but making it my own. And there will be a lot of dialogue that RomanticVoltaire and i came up with. _


	14. Broken Circle Part 1

Chapter 14 Broken circle Part 1

The trip to Lake Calenhad took a few days, letting the Wardens and their companions get to know each other better.

Alistair revealed why he had been so vehement in defending Arl Eamon; he was a bastard and the old Arl had been the one to raise him in a fashion - though "raised" was a rather generous way to put it. Alistair slept in the stables and wasn't taught much of anything, but how to care for the Arl's horses. Conrí and Erin both grimaced. He was obviously too close to the situation to see how badly he was treated.

Who his father was revealed to be, he kept to himself.

Sten was an enigma, to say the least. The large man said little, but he and Conrí had seemed to come to some sort of non-verbal agreement. This didn't seem to extend to Garik, who pestered the large man with questions incessantly.

Leliana had revealed she had once been a traveling minstrel in Orlais, but somehow found herself in Fereldan and sought shelter from a storm in the Chantry. Conrí didn't fully buy it, but decided that the young woman was entitled to her secrets. The only question still rolling through his head was whether she was a mere minstrel… or a bard.

Of herself, Morrigan said little. What Tristan had managed to wheedle out of her was sparse, save that she had lived in the Wilds her whole life and learned shapeshifting from Flemeth.

A small inn lay on the banks of the lake where Conrí reserved a few rooms. It would be a little tight, but it was somewhere to sleep besides their tents. Their bedrolls needed an airing anyway.

Tristan sat at the bar, sipping a bland ale, when an elderly man sat down next to him.

"Well, look at this! I remember taking you across when you left with that fellow, Duncan," he said. "And now you're a Grey Warden… my pap used to tell me stories about them."

Tristan smirked as he recognized the ferryman that brought people to and from the tower.

"Hello, Kester. Why aren't you manning the boat?"

"Templars took her," Kester told him.

"What? Why?"

"I don't got a clue. They wouldn't tell me. Greagoir just came down and said, 'Don't you worry, Kester. We've got it all under control, we do.' Didn't say nothing else. And then he puts Carroll in charge of my boat, Lissie! Named for my grandmum, she was."

"Is there something going on up there at the tower?" Conrí asked, setting aside his ale.

"Like I said, they didn't tell me nothing. And if I know them mages, I'm better off keeping out of their business. If I had to guess, I'd guess it had to do with magic. But the tower's always got something to do with magic."

"Is there no way to get across?"

"You could try swimming, but I don't recommend it," Kester quipped. "Nasty things in that lake. I reckon it's all them potions they dump in there. Greagoir told me to stay here till it blows over. But I'm telling you, some storms don't blow over easy."

"We have to get to the tower," Conrí muttered. "I could convince the Templars to let us in…"

"Maybe you could at that," Kester chuckled. "I'm sure your mind's all a-fire now, eh?"

"So you know Greagoir well?" Tristan asked.

"Oh I can't say that," Kester shook his head. "I'm lucky he's good enough to give me the time of day. The First Enchanter's all right. He's polite as can be, but he's always a little distant, if you get my drift. But Greagoir'll stay to talk. I reckon he likes hearing from us common folk, you know."

"What are you opinions of the Circle?"

"I reckon it's good for you mages. Gather them all, learn them some proper magicks. I know what they say about mages but… the Maker made them for a purpose. If you can't trust Him, who can you trust?"

Conrí glanced at the marked candle on the bar.

"We best be getting to bed. Thank you for the information, Kester."

Erin slid up to the bar as Kester left.

"So… what do we do?"

"Get some sleep," Conrí told her. "We'll deal with the Templars in the morning."

The next morning, the Wardens gathered quickly. Noting that the boat near the pier was unlikely to hold them all, Conrí told Sten, Morrigan and Koun to stay behind. Blair said the same to Kiba.

"You!" barked the Templar manning the pier. This must be Carroll. "You're not looking to get across to the tower are you? Because I have strict orders not to let anyone pass!"

"We are Grey Wardens, seeking the assistance of the mages," Conrí told him.

"Oh, you're a Grey warden are you?" Carroll sneered. "Prove it."

Conrí sighed and pulled the mage treaty from his pack.

"I have these documents here," he said, handing the scroll to the Templar.

"Yes? Oh, a Grey Warden seal. A-ha. You are claiming to be one of those. You know, I have some documents, too. They say I'm the queen of Antiva. What do you think of that?"

Garik raised an eyebrow, "Aren't queens female?"

"Don't question royalty!" Carroll cried. "Anyway, it was nice chatting with you. Now on your way. Right now. Go."

Conrí pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Can't we work something out?"

"That redhead there at the back… she doesn't need to go to the tower, does she? Because it gets a little lonely out here sometimes… and you know, you could just leave her with me…"

"What?" Leliana squawked. "Er… no. I'm sorry, I'm… a poetess! And I'm not interested in anything you have to offer."

"I've never met a poetess… the other men sometimes tell stories about them… when the knight-commander isn't around. He doesn't abide that sort of talk…"

"Pah," Leliana scoffed with a smile. "The stories sheltered Templars tell will pale in comparison to mine. Would you like to hear my tales of debauchery and excess?"

"Y-yes… please?" Carroll stammered.

"I'm sure we could talk on that long, dull boat ride across the lake yes?"

"Er… yes, definitely? Are we going now?"

Conrí chuckled as Carroll all but sprinted to the boat. Garik tapped Leliana on the hip with the back of his fist.

"Nice work, Red," he said with a snicker.

Leliana giggled.

The ride across the lake did take some time, but Leliana kept them all amused with the rather racy tales she told Carroll. The Templar was completely enthralled.

Erin leaned closer to her brother and whispered into his ear, "Minstrel in Orlais… do you think…?"

"It's possible," Conrí muttered. "But if she was really here to spy on us, why had she been in the Chantry for two years? And in a backwater village like Lothering at that. I won't rule it out yet, but it's very unlikely."

"Fair enough," Erin sighed.

Her brother had certainly developed mentally during his tenure as a Grey Warden.

_Must be the taint. Otherwise, he'd be as thick as I remember him._

"…and I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times," an ageing man in Templar armor gave orders to a younger warrior. "Do not open the doors without my express consent. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ser," the Templar made his way to distribute the man's orders.

"The doors are barred," Alistair mused. "Are they keeping people out? Or in?"

"What do you think?" Tristan snorted as he approached the Knight-Commander. "And I thought you were out of my life forever."

"Well, look who's back," Greagoir grimaced. "A proper Grey Warden now, are we? Glad you're not dead."

Tristan smirked. "Really?"

"Perhaps. Now, we're dealing with a situation that doesn't involve you, Grey Warden. I shall speak plainly; the tower is no longer under our control. Abominations and demons stalk the tower's halls. We were too complacent. First Jowan, now this. Don't think I've forgotten your role in Jowan's escape."

Tristan rolled his eyes.

"Sounds like the Templars haven't been doing their jobs," Erin sneered.

"My men did what they could," Greagoir told her, surprised at the young woman's tone. "They took us by surprise. We were prepared for one or two abominations. Not the horde that fell on us."

"And you're still waiting here?" Alistair asked. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"It is our duty, as Templars, to watch the Circle tower. We will stand guard to make sure nothing leaves. Nothing. I would destroy the tower, raze it to the ground, but I cannot risk more of my men. The doors remain shut and they will protect us for now."

Conrí was livid.

"You shut everyone in there?!" he snarled. "Including innocent mages?"

"Not just mages," Greagoir said grimly. "My Templars as well. I had no choice. The abominations must be contained at all costs. We do not mean for the doors to remain closed forever. Everything in the tower must be eliminated."

The elder Templar turned to look back at the doors.

"I have sent word to Denerim, calling for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment-" Greagoir was cut off as he turned back by the shining steel fist of a Grey Warden.

Jaws dropped as Greagoir did. Conrí stomped on the old Templar's chest, holding the man to the floor.

"Typical Templars!" he spat. "Once something in their perfect world slips out of place, it's time to cull an entire Circle!" he drew his frighteningly large sword and aimed it at a younger man who moved to assist his commander.

The Templar halted, petrified by the unbridled hate in the piercing blue eyes of the large man in front of him.

"What is this Right of Annulment?" Tira asked.

"A power given by the chantry that lets these bastards have wholesale slaughter against the mages they trap to begin with," Erin snarled.

Tira looked horrified while Garik and Serena shot the Templars looks of disgust.

"Is it not enough that you imprison those who happen to be born with the gift of magic?!" Tira cried.

"The mages are probably already dead," Alistair tried to reason with his comrade.

Conrí's head swiveled to glare at Alistair.

The former Templar swallowed hard, but continued regardless, "Any abominations in there must be dealt with, no matter what."

"This situation is dire," Greagoir wheezed. "There is no alternative."

"The mages are far from defenseless," Blair reasoned. "Some must live."

"If any are still alive, the Maker Himself has shielded them," Greagoir told her. "No one could have survived those monstrous creatures. It is too painful to hope for survivors and find… nothing."

Conrí growled like a feral beast, "_You_ shut them all in!"

"And what was I to do?! Leave the doors open as the abominations poured out?"

"He… he's right," Alistair groaned. "All the circles have doors like these, to prevent Abominations from… getting loose."

"You can't just cull the Circle," Tristan snapped. "There are innocent people in there. Children!"

"These are not the mages you remember. They are abominations. To save their souls, you must harden your heart. It is the innocent folk of Fereldan that matter. I would lay down my life and life of any mage—" Greagoir tried, but was cut off by Conri.

"That's exactly my problem with you Templars! You don't see these mages as people," he snorted. "We waste time. Open the doors. We will do what you and your men are too cowardly to do."

Conrí lifted his foot and strode towards the door.

"Once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back," Greagoir told him.

Conrí turned slightly to stare at the Knight-Commander over his shoulder, "What else is new?"

Corpses, both of mages and Templars, bestrewed the halls. They lay where they had fallen, arms outstretched in a vain effort to defend themselves, staffs and swords clutched in the dead, vice-like grips, eyes staring blank but wide in horror at the sight of the last thing they beheld, whatever beast it may have been. Blood spattered nearly every wall, arterial spray having drenched the stone.

"How did this happen?" Leliana choked, aghast at the sheer level of carnage displayed around them.

"Well, we won't find out by standing here..." Conrí began, before falling silent as his ears picked up shuffling through the next door.

"Survivors, perhaps?" Tira asked, picking up the same sounds.

"Well, let's find out," Erin replied, opening the door and looking in to see utter chaos within.

A pulse of fire at the far end of the room; children screaming, running for their lives from a strange creature, sinuous and serpentine, looking as though it were formed from living magma, glaring out at the world through eyes that were blazing red pinpricks of rage and hatred, looking for fresh victims, howling in deranged joy as all fled in terror before it...

All except one, that is.

A single mage, a woman of about sixty, clad in robes the same fiery red as the rage demon, stood between the monster and the crowd of children and teenage apprentices running from it. The demon gave another roar, charging towards the older woman standing before it, clawed hands forming from its lava-like body, reaching towards the mage, eager to rend and tear. But before it could, the mage incanted a phrase and waved a hand commandingly at the advancing demon, who shrieked in agony as a thick layer of ice and frost smothered its fiery form. The demon's shrieks grew weaker and weaker as the flames of its existence were slowly put out, and the mage pressed her advantage; with a final blast of cold magic and an agonized wail of anger, the demon was gone, banished back to the Fade.

Exhaling a relieved sigh and wiping sweat from her brow, the older mage turned round...

And both she and the mage Warden started in shocked recognition.

"You? You've returned to the tower?" Wynne asked. "Why did the Templars let you through? Are you here to warn us?"

"I told Greagoir I would investigate the tower."

"The Templars have barred the doors," Wynne told him, her worry coloring her tone. "They will only open them if they intend to attack us. Is that what is happening?"

"No, they are waiting for reinforcements," Tristan shook his head.

Wynne hung her head. "So Greagoir believes that the Circle is lost; he probably assumes we are all dead. They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived. If they invoke the Rite, however, we will not be able to stand against them."

"How did this happen?" Leliana asked, shocked at the miniscule number of surviving mages, most of them youths barely out of their teens or children. A handful of more senior mages remained, but most were injured or comatose, requiring time to heal their injuries and recover their strength… time they didn't have.

"Let it suffice to say we had… something of a revolt on our hands, led by a mage named Uldred," Wynne spat the name as though it were something foul on her tongue.

"When he returned from Ostagar, he tried to take over the Circle. As you can see," she gestured to the blood-spattered walls and corpse-strewn halls. "It did not work out as he planned. I do not know what has become of Uldred, but I'm sure this is all his doing. I will not see the Circle destroyed because of one man's pride and stupidity!"

"But then why are you still here?"

"I tried to get the children out, but the Templars had already locked the doors. I erected a barrier so that nothing could get through to harm us; you won't be able to pass through it, but I will dispel it if you join with me to save the Circle."

"But the Templars could attack at any moment!" Alistair added. "Trust me, I know the kind of people they'll send from Denerim, and they won't hesitate to kill everyone in their path because the Grand Cleric told them to!"

"True, we do not have much time, but once we secure the tower, I trust Greagoir will tell his men to back down," Wynne said logically. "He's not unreasonable."

"The Knight-Commander will only accept the First Enchanter's word that it is over," Conrí replied, eliciting a resigned sigh from Wynne before the old woman looked up, a resolute gleam in her eyes.

"Then our path is laid out before us. We _must_ save Irving."

Turning her attention to several of the younger mages, she quickly issued commands for them to stay behind and protect the others unable to join their entry to the tower.

At this, one of the mages she had addressed-a young woman with red hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing vivid yellow robes- piped up, "Wynne, are you sure you're alright? You were so badly injured; maybe I should come along..." But the older woman shook her head.

"The others need you more. Stay here and guard the children."

Turning her attention back to Tristan and the others, she calmly spoke up, "If you are ready, then let us go end this."

Conrí Cousland was beginning to get annoyed. The only ones who benefitted from such a delay were the Archdemon and the darkspawn.

"Look after her, please?" a female voice behind him asked, interrupting his mental diatribe.

Conrí turned round to see the redhead mage who'd offered to go with Wynne. Up close, she looked barely older than seventeen and nothing short of afraid. Her eyes kept darting to Wynne, and Conrí could see the mage was deeply concerned for her senior counterpart.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know if she's up to this, not after...what happened," the girl replied. "Wynne's the strongest person I know, but she's only human."

"What aren't you saying?" Conrí asked.

The girl's look of unease only intensified.

"I was on my way to the library, when a demon appeared; its eyes were aflame with evil, I was certain it was my death come upon me. And then Wynne was there; it was light, and fire, and chaos. And then the demon was gone. But Wynne wasn't moving… I was so certain she'd died"

Conrí frowned, "Well, she seems to be ok..."

"Just be careful? She might be fine, but then she might not have come away from that unscathed..."

"Come on, we're wasting time that the Circle does not have," Wynne cut across the conversation.

Conrí strode over to the doorway where Wynne stood with Leliana, Tira, Erin, Blair and Alistair. Serena and Garik were staying behind to help protect the surviving mages.

Garik had stated bluntly, "No offense, but the less we have to deal with magic, the better."

At a snap of Wynne's fingers, the glowing, translucent wall of blue energy dissipated and the group stepped through the doorway into the library. The second they were through, Wynne again snapped her fingers and the barrier reappeared.

"That should protect them, should any demons or other fiends get past us," Wynne explained.

A gurgling roar cut off what she would have said next.

Emerging from hiding behind a bookcase, a twisted and bloated beast came before them. Conrí had laid eyes on darkspawn of all kinds, corrupted beasts and yet this monster was the most disgusting, disturbing thing he had ever laid eyes upon; the first true abomination he'd seen. The corrupting influence of the demon possessing whoever this poor individual had been had twisted their shape beyond all possible recognition; the flesh of the torso and shoulders had expanded to immense size, and taken a foul, twisted look. The mage's spine and ribs were visible through its distorted flesh - in some places, the bones even protruded through the skin. Its hands and fingers had twisted into long, skeletal claws and its head... its head was the worst, twisted and mutated out of shape, only one eye, bloodshot and jaundiced, visible, the other hidden behind a growth of bloated muscle, a mouth distorted into a leering grin that stretched far too wide, baring teeth like a shark's; curved, jagged and far too many crammed into one mouth.

The abomination roared, breaking into a run, claws outstretched. Wynne reacted quickly, shooting a bolt of arcane power at the beast, which staggered but continued to charge. As the creature's claws came within reach of Wynne, Alistair acted; he slammed his shield into the creature's side, sending the abomination crashing to the ground. Before it could recover, Conrí brought his Greatsword stabbing down into the abomination's heart.

"We've got more company!" Alistair yelled as four more abominations emerged from a side chamber and attacked.

The first abomination hit Alistair like an avalanche, slamming the Templar to the floor, but Alistair recovered more quickly, rolling aside as the creature stamped its foot down where his head had been, and blocking a downward swipe of the thing's claws with his shield. Before it could attack again, Alistair stabbed out, driving Oathkeeper clean through the abomination's chest; it screamed and fell to the floor with a spurt of dark blood.

The second abomination fought with Erin, the beast raking its claws across the woman's side. She staggered, but as the possessed mage pressed its advantage, Erin ducked under another swipe of its hands, stabbing one sword into the abomination's chest, before bringing the other to slash across the beast's throat as its bloodshot eyes stared at her in shock. The abomination fell to its knees, its hands clutching its opened neck, energy curdling in its hands as it tried to heal its injury, and Erin reacted swiftly, driving the sword in her off-hand into the back of the abomination's head, ending its existence.

Tira and Blair ducked and dodged around and under their opponents claws. The beast seemed to be getting more frustrated by the moment, and slashed even more vehemently. The wounds the elves had scored seemed to do little more than anger it. Leliana nocked and arrow and let it fly, piercing the Abominations face and punching out the back of its head. Tristan called on his ice magic, freezing the final creature in place before launching a Stonefist spell, and shattering it into a thousand bloody pieces.

"I never thought I'd say this," Tristan panted. "But give me darkspawn over these creatures any day."

"We have to hurry," Conrí told him. "Surana, you and Wynne take point. You know the tower better than the rest of us."

Rather than sneer as he normally would, Tristan nodded and cast an enchantment spell similar to the one used by the mage at the Tower of Ishal. However, the melee fighters' weapons were wreathed in hoarfrost rather than flames. When Conrí gave a satisfied nod, the group continued.

They had reached the second floor of the tower when Conrí heard a noise; drawing his sword, he called out, "Whoever's there, come out now!"

At this, a mage emerged from hiding behind a column and spoke in a plaintive voice, "Please refrain from going into the stockroom; 'tis a mess and I've not gotten it into a state fit to be seen."

"You're cleaning? At a time like this?" was the incredulous reply.

The mage seemed completely unconcerned by the situation, the spatters of gore and the corpses lying about the chamber, picking up a crate of deep mushrooms beside him and placed it on top of several others in a corner.

"The stock room is my responsibility; I must keep it clean," was the blasé reply.

Conrí made to make another comment about this when a restraining hand placed itself on his shoulder. "He's one of the Tranquil," Wynne murmured. "The Tranquil don't have emotions."

"They used to be mages, but underwent a Rite to strip them of emotion," Tristan grumbled. "Now they're puppets of the Templars."

His words made Conrí and Erin scowl.

The man made what would perhaps be considered an emotional outburst, for a Tranquil at least. "I would prefer not to die. I would prefer for the tower to return to the way it was. Perhaps Niall will succeed and save us all."

"Niall? He's still alive?" Wynne asked, a hopeful note in her voice. "What's he trying to do, Owain?"

"I do not know," the Tranquil replied. "But he came here with several others, and took the Litany of Adralla."

"But that protects against mind domination," Wynne questioned, a curious look on her face. "Is blood magic at work here?"

The Tranquil shrugged his shoulders. "I do not know," he repeated, but Wynne was not listening, muttering to herself.

"Niall was at the meeting where this all began, he would know. Blood magic... I was afraid of this."

A moment's silence followed before Wynne took charge again.,"We should find Niall; the Litany will give us a fighting chance against any blood mages we encounter. Owain, go downstairs to the Apprentice Quarters, the survivors are gathering down there. Petra will let you through the barrier."

The group crept through the abandoned halls of the second floor, ears alert for any sound.

"Stop!" Conrí hissed. "Listen!"

Not far ahead, an argument seemed to be going on between a group of mages.

"What are we doing?" a female voice asked. "Have you thought about it?"

"We're making sure no one disrupts Uldred's plans," a waspish male voice responded.

"But he's not Uldred anymore… I never wanted it to go this far," the woman sighed.

"Neither did I," a second male voice answered. "But this is what we're fated with and…"

"Quiet, both of you!" the first man hissed. "I think I heard something. Keep your eyes open…"

Before the group could react, a Stonefist burst through the divider between the mages and the Wardens, smashing into Conrí, who flew back into Tristan. A man with long brown hair stole around the divider and raised his hand, a ball of lighting appearing in it. The blood dripping from his wrist showed what kind of magic was powering it.

"What are you doing, Severus?" the woman demanded, following her compatriot. "They're not Templars, we don't have to kill them!"

"I don't care, Xolana!" the man bellowed back. "Why else would they be here? Maybe Greagoir's using mercenaries to do the Order's dirty work now!"

"They're not here for us!" the woman snapped. "We're wasting time here, time we need to get out!"

With a roar, Alistair drew on his training and unleashed a powerful blast of energy, dispelling the blood magic. The trio of mages were caught off guard for a moment… all the group needed to counterattack. Leliana seized her bow, notched and loosed two arrows together; they flew straight at the mage who'd been preparing to kill them, slamming into his eyes and punching out the back of the man's head. The second male mage tried to defend himself, but before he could cast a spell, Conrí seized his belt knife and hurled it at him. The blade pierced his forehead and he dropped bonelessly to the ground, his face set in a look of shock. The woman could only stare in shock at the demise of her companions, before a crossbow bolt loosed by Alistair struck her in the hip, pitching her onto her back, coughing up blood as she landed heavily on the stone floor. Conrí got up, seizing his sword, but to his shock the woman cast aside her staff and crawled backwards.

"Please, please don't kill me!"

"The people you murdered didn't want to die either, blood mage!" Alistair replied coldly.

"I know I have no right to ask for mercy, but-but I didn't mean for all this death and destruction. We were just trying to free ourselves! Uldred told us that the Circle would support Loghain and Loghain would help us be free of the Chantry! You don't know what it was like; the Templars were watching, always watching..."

"And you thought turning to blood magic and murdering any who stood against you would improve things?" Alistair spat. "What you have done here will only make things worse for future generations of mages, not better!"

"The magic was a means to an end!" the woman snapped despite her fear, a spot of defiance entering her amethyst eyes. "It gave us, gave me, the power to fight for what I believed in!"

"Fighting for what you believe in is commendable Xolana Amell, but the ends do not always justify the means!" Wynne snapped curtly.

"You don't honestly believe that, Wynne?" Xolana sneered at the elder mage. "Change rarely comes peacefully; Andraste waged war against the Imperium, she didn't write them a strongly worded letter. She reshaped civilization, freed the slaves and gave us the Chantry, but people died for it… we thought someone has to take the first step, force a change… no matter the cost," the woman trailed off, her earlier guilt reasserting itself.

"_Nothing_ is worth what you have done to this place!" Wynne intoned angrily.

"Amell?" Tristan asked as he got to his feet.

"Surana? Wait… You're Wardens?"

"Most of us," Conrí allowed gripping his sword.

"But… why are you here?"

"We came here looking for mages to aid us against the blight," Blair told her, her short bow nocked but lowered and not drawn.

"But why would the Templars let Wardens through during all this?"

"I made a… convincing argument," Conrí growled. "But if they find out what you did up here… they might kill you, or more likely make you tranquil."

Xolana's eyes widened in horror and Leliana leapt to her defense.

"She could make an appeal to the Chantry…"

"They'll never take her, you know. They're very picky about who they let in: murderers, harlots, yes. Maleficarum, oh no!" Alistair glibly replied, earning himself an angry glare from Leliana.

"Your comments betray your ignorance, Alistair. The Chantry accepts all, regardless of what they've done."

Alistair scowled at the tone of her rebuke. "Well, it seems you're familiar with a whole other Chantry, because the one_ I_ know wouldn't hesitate to shove a sword of mercy right through her heart."

"I feel inclined to agree with Alistair..." Tristan muttered to himself.

"Please…" Xolana muttered. "I just want my life."

Before anyone could say anything more, Leliana intervened; kneeling beside the girl, she turned to Xolana and said simply, "Redeem yourself."

"Redeem myself?" the mage woman replied, confusion overcoming terror. "How?"

"Do as the Wardens do. Fight darkspawn. Save lives," was the reply.

"Fight darkspawn? But I'm... I'm a..."

"A mage," Conrí told her, favoring his shoulder where one of Xolana's compatriots had struck him with a Stonefist. "Wardens make use of any ally they can."

"This is unwise; she is a blood mage, she has turned twice against the Circle," Wynne protested. "You would be wise not to trust her, so why do you suggest we let her go?"

"As Conrí said, the Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could be found," Blair replied. "And because she's not a threat; if she was, she'd have attacked us, and fought and died with the others. A lie now would gain her nothing."

Wynne sighed.

"I suppose it is not my place to question the needs of your cause," shaking her head disapprovingly as she turned away.

"No, it's not," Blair snipped.

Tristan knelt next to Xolana, his hands glowing with eldritch blue light. Xolana hissed quietly as her skin knitted back together. "Thanks, Surana," she mumbled.

"Don't mention it, Amell," Tristan smirked slightly. "We're gonna have a long conversation when this is all over."

She nodded. "What now?" Xolana Amell asked, getting to her feet and recovering her staff. "Am I to follow you?"

"Go downstairs to the Apprentice quarters; the survivors are gathering down there. Tell no one who you are," Conrí told her. "We'll deal with the Templars when this is over."

The mage nodded, tears of gratitude now staining her makeup. "Yes. I will serve your cause in exchange for my life. Thank you, the Maker will surely turn his gaze on you for your mercy!" Xolana Amell called out as she ran for the staircase downstairs.

They stopped inside First Enchanter Irving's office to rest for a moment and patch themselves up; more abominations, walking corpses and other horrors had blocked their path and though the fiends had been destroyed, it hadn't been without cost. As Wynne worked her magic, fingers expertly pouring healing energy into their wounds, Alistair turned his attention to the older woman as she closed up a row of jagged teeth marks where an abomination had bitten through his bracer into his sword arm.

"How did this happen?" he asked, gesturing at the carnage outside. "I know you told me this Uldred is at the core of it, but what did he do?"

"Ah, that is a long story, child," Wynne answered.

"And like so many things happening in Ferelden at this moment, it has its origins in what happened that night at Ostagar. As you know, I was at that ill-fated battle, and I survived, though barely. I made it to Lothering, but I was in no state to travel further, so I stayed behind to recuperate, tend to the wounded and help those still present prepare to evacuate the village before the horde descended upon it. Uldred, however, got away much quicker; he was assigned to Loghain's forces before the battle, and so he departed Ostagar when that traitorous cur left us and Cailan to die. He set off for the Circle immediately, to parrot the message his master had given him. By the time I returned, I discovered Uldred had all but convinced the Circle to join Loghain, the man who nearly destroyed us all!" Wynne spat angrily, before taking a deep breath to calm herself. "No, I cannot blame the Circle. Uldred had a persuasive argument, and how could they have known what Loghain did at Ostagar?"

"What did Loghain promise the Circle in exchange for their aid?" Erin asked.

"According to Uldred, the alliance with the new regime would be to the Circle's advantage; once Loghain was in power, he would order the Chantry to give us more freedom."

Conrí exchanged significant looks with Erin and Tira;

_No wonder the Circle turned so willingly._ Conrí thought to himself.

Freedom from the overbearing surveillance of the Chantry, released from the presence and the threat of the Templars; Loghain had tempted the Circle with the best he could offer.

"Perhaps Loghain and this Uldred were in cahoots from the very beginning," Alistair suggested.

Wynne nodded in agreement.

"That is my suspicion; Uldred always desired power. He never mentored the apprentices, never taught. He never cared much for the Circle, only his own advancement. It would not surprise me to learn that Uldred had a deal with Loghain that would benefit himself; perhaps Loghain promised him the position of First Enchanter, once the Blight was dealt with. Not that any such deal will do him much good now!" Wynne finished rather smugly.

"What do you mean, what happened?"

"Uldred's plans unraveled. When I got back and found out what was going on, I told First Enchanter Irving what Loghain did on the battlefield. I revealed the 'Hero of River Dane' for the traitorous bastard he is! Irving said he would take care of it; he called a meeting to deal with Uldred, but something… something must have gone wrong," Wynne trailed off, an apprehensive look of regret crossing her face.

"What happened at the meeting?

"I do not know, I wasn't there; I was still meant to be recuperating. I emerged from my quarters when I heard the screams. They were coming from the meeting room, and it wasn't long before I saw the first abomination, running down a mage. It deteriorated quickly after that."

"And what about Irving?" Alistair pressed.

"I found Petra, and we were trying to fight our way to the meeting room, when we saw Irving. He was battling a terrifying abomination; as he and that beast battled to the death, he told me to get as many as I could to safety. That... that was the last time I saw Irving..." Wynne trailed off sadly.

"So he could be dead, and with him, any chance of the Circle's support?" Conrí growled.

"I refuse to believe that," Wynne replied, a fiery look entering her eyes. "If _anyone_ could survive this, it is he!"

Tristan barely heard her, taking an angered kick at a heavily damaged wooden chest in a corner to alleviate his frustrations. The force of the blow toppled the chest, sending its contents spilling across the floor; parchment scrolls, treatises and studies, all manner of papers related to the business of the Circle... and half-buried under all the debris, an ornate tome, bound in black leather. The words **'Liber Magus'** had been engraved into the front cover, beneath the image of a leafless tree. The sight caused him to remember something...

_"I have a thought," Morrigan said the night before as Tristan left his room._

_"Just the one?" he asked._

_A sarcastic laugh escaped the witch's lips, "Such wit, truly! You and Mother should form a troupe of jesters and tour the countryside!" _

_The smile disappeared and Morrigan swiftly became all business. _

_"To the point, my mother was once divested of a particular grimoire of hers by a rather bothersome Templar. It happened long before I was born, but to this day, Flemeth speaks of the loss with great rage. 'Tis most likely that such an object ended in the possession of the Circle, and it seems to me we have an opportunity to recover it."_

_"What makes you think the Mages still have this book?"_

_"Flemeth is a sorceress of legend, is she not?" Morrigan reasoned. "And her grimoire would be more than a mere curiosity to the mages that daren't even glance towards the places my mother has walked for eons. No doubt 'tis considered something dangerous, perhaps best locked away somewhere dark, yes? And if not? Then at least I know it does not exist. But there is no harm in looking, surely?"_

_"Why didn't you mention this before?"_

_"I did not think of it, earlier," Morrigan huffed. "Truly, Mother had assumed for a long time that the tome was lost forever. I only remembered it now after thinking what treasures might be found."_

_"Very well. I will look in the tower should I find the opportunity."_

_"Good. I am eager to see its contents."_

Shaking off the memory, Tristan gingerly picked up the heavy tome, rewrapping it in the simple cloth that half covered the book and after looking round to make sure the others weren't looking. Alistair was turned away, using a whetstone to repair the cutting edge of his sword, while Wynne was attending to Leliana's injuries, both women distracted. Conrí himself was leafing through an old tome on the history of the Circle. Tristan quickly deposited into his backpack before the others could see it; he didn't expect they'd look kindly on riffling through the First Enchanter's chest.

Setting the book aside and turning about, Conrí cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Is everyone alright?" he asked.

Receiving nods from the others, Conrí slung his pack back on his shoulders and replied, "Then let us finish this."

Racing up through the upper levels of the tower, the grotesque spectacles only grew worse. Uldred and his cronies had left no part of the tower untouched; the evidence of their handiwork was everywhere. Packs of abominations roaming the tower at will, shades and spirits and worse, unbound demons hungry for the life force of mortals to gorge themselves upon. Even more horrifying were those who'd given in to such predations willingly; Templars who came to arms, defending the demon in their midst as though it were a wife or child.

"Poor souls," Leliana murmured "They could not resist whatever temptations the demon presented them with."

"Great irony; the Templars go on about mages being unable to resist the temptations demons offer, only to succumb themselves," Erin muttered. "Morrigan would have had a field day with this!"

"We must hurry," Wynne desperately exhorted, gesturing to the door ahead of them. "Through there are the creature containment pens and the Harrowing Chamber; those are the only possible places left where Uldred and his lackeys could be hiding..."

Her voice faltered as she and the others realized their path forward was blocked.

"Oh look, visitors," a thick, burbling voice rasped.

Another of the abominations haunting the tower, another bloated hulk of exposed muscle and twisted bone, stood before them, glowering at them through one jaundiced, slit-pupilled eye, the other hidden behind a growth of twisted, cancerous flesh. A mage, a man of middle years, lay at the creature's feet, whether unconscious or dead they couldn't tell, a scroll of parchment clutched in his hand.

"I'd entertain you, but," the creature gave a weary sigh. "Too much effort involved."

"Good," Conrí snarled at the monster. "That should make you easier to kill!"

He raised his sword and made to charge forward... and came to a juddering stop. He was suddenly so tired; his arms felt like lead, and his sword...

_Andraste's ass, when did this thing get so heavy?_

"But why?" the creature asked plaintively.

"Aren't you tired of all the violence in the world? I know I am..." it said with another weary exhalation.

The little of the thing's mouth they could see curved into a devious smile, baring yellowed, blood-spattered teeth that clearly belonged to whatever demon had possessed the mage and it raised a clawed hand. "

Wouldn't you like to just lie down and forget about all this? Leave it all behind?"

A nimbus of light formed in the creature's palm but before any of the companions could react to it, the light leapt from the abomination's hand and fell to the floor, spreading into a thick miasma that began to slither across the floor towards them. Tristan had no idea what it was, but he could tell it would be nothing good.

As it reached Tristan's legs, the feeling of exhaustion that had stopped Conrí from cutting the demon down where it stood only intensified, and judging from the reactions of his companions, he wasn't the only one affected.

"Can't keep eyes open," Alistair mumbled, sliding down the wall and vainly trying not to yawn. "Someone... pinch me..."

His voice trailed off as he fell to the floor in a sitting position, eyes closed.

Leliana was trying to back out of the room, her hands over her ears, trying not to breathe in the heavy fog.

"I'll not listen to your lies, demon. You have... no power over me," the bard snapped, but before she could escape, Leliana inadvertently backed into and tripped over the prone form of Alistair.

The Orlesian went down, out before she hit the ground, lying in a tangled heap atop the sleeping Templar.

Erin fell next, her swords clattering to the ground as she slid down the wall between Tira and Blair, both struggling to keep their eyes open. Conrí leaned against a bookshelf, shaking his head as if to clear it of water. But even he soon dropped to the ground, fast asleep.

Wynne was the only one besides Tristan left on her feet, and even then only barely, using her staff to stay upright and desperately projecting a shield of arcane energy against the magic spilling from the demon's claws.

"Resist, you must resist, else we are all lost!" she cried.

The demon laughed mockingly at this, shaking its head sadly as though amused by their foolishness.

"Why do you fight? You deserve more. You deserve a rest. The world will go on without you."

Before the Warden mage could take a turn for another attack, the weary feeling intensified, causing him to topple forward to land face down on the bloody floor, out before he hit the ground.

_AN: Okay, this is the last chapter that i have done at the moment. But, i should have 15 done within the next couple days. Thanks for the views, everyone. And reviews really help, so... yeah, don't be shy. :) ~Sin_


	15. Tears of the Fade

Chapter 15 Tears of the Fade

Conrí regained consciousness slowly. His eyes cracked open, and he winced at the blinding light flooding through his shutter less window. His head was pounding as he sat up. "Maker's ass," he muttered, groping for the hangover potion he kept in his bedside drawer. "I guess I really shouldn't have mixed whiskey and brandy last night…"

The potion took its time taking effect, but eventually he managed to pry himself from his comfortable bed. He looked around his room; to his surprise, not much was out of place, despite his no doubt random stumbling the night before… or maybe Sten had dragged him to his room.

Conrí frowned. _Sten? Who the Void is that?_ He shook his head to clear it and threw on his armor. Deciding he might want some weapon practice before lunch, he grabbed his Greatsword as well.

He met Erin out in the hall, look much in the same state as he. "What happened last night?" she asked, taking the offered potion.

"After the fifth glass of brandy… or was it sixth… I don't remember much of anything…"

"Me either…" Erin groaned. "Let's get some food… if my stomach wants to stop roiling that is…"

The twins managed to stumble down to the dining hall, finding most of their family. Fergus snickered as the pair sat gingerly in their seats, both still sensitive to light and sound. "Well, my dear siblings finally decide to join us. I take it last night's fun has caught up with you?"

"To say the least…" Erin mumbled.

"You know, the Couslands have a great hangover remedy," Fergus continued, a sly smirk on his face. "It's a greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ash-tray."

"Oh, I hate you!" Conrí groaned, resting his head on the table.

"I know you do," Fergus laughed.

"That's enough, Fergus," Eleanor scolded laughingly. "Both of you, eat your porridge. We'll see how you feel afterwards."

The twins obey their mother, tucking into their bowls. "This might sound odd," Erin said after a few spoonfuls. "But I find myself unable to think of what warranted such celebration last night."

"That doesn't surprise me," Bryce chuckled as he joined the table. "Considering between you both you'd consumed enough spirits to topple an ogre. It was quite an event. The battle at Ostagar went well. The Archdemon made its appearance and was struck down by your fellows. The Wardens even went so far as to set the tunnels ablaze. King Cailan was ecstatic at the chance to fight alongside you."

Briefly, the vision of a very different scene haunted him, but with a shake of his head the fleeting image left Conrí. The pressure in his head that had persisted since he had risen intensified briefly.

"Highever threw you lot one hell of a celebration," Fergus went on. "I think the king is still passed out upstairs. He drank more than either of you, and that is saying something."

"He did provide some amusing entertainment, though," Eleanor chuckled. "Dancing alongside that Grey Warden, Alistair. From what I know of the lad, I think he'd have been a bit too shy had he not ingested an entire bottle of whiskey. I'd never seen Commander Duncan laugh so hard."

Conrí frowned slightly, his memory foggy. He pulled his Warden's Oath from under his armor. What would he do now? He'd joined the Wardens to fight the darkspawn and to keep his family safe. What was his purpose now? For all his hopes that the Blight would be ended quickly, he hadn't truly expected it. Come to think of it… he couldn't remember the battle.

A piercing pain went through his skull. He groaned, dropping his spoon and hunching over. "Conrí!" Erin cried, moving to assist her sibling when a pain lanced through her head.

When the pain subsided, Conrí rubbed his temples. His eyes snapped open. _I… I remember… Mother… Father… Howe! Howe betrayed us! Killed them! Ostagar was a slaughter! Cailan… This… this is a lie. Wait… we were at the Circle tower…. _Conrí's eyes rolled to look at his sister, finding her staring at him, her eyes alight with fury and pain.

"No…" Conrí rumbled.

"What's that, son?" Bryce… or rather, the thing wearing his face, asked.

"This is wrong… Ostagar was no victory… Cailan… Duncan… all the others are dead… The tower…. That damn demon!"

The creature that looked like his father glared. "You shouldn't have remembered. Both of you would have been safe and happy here. But it seems your pride will not allow it."

"Silence!" Conrí roared, springing to his feet and drawing his sword. "I will not stand here and allow you to tarnish the memory of my family!"

"Nor will I!" Erin hissed, flourishing her twin blades. The world around them began to warp and change. If they cared to look out the windows, and at the moment they didn't, they would have seen the castle was on a floating island in the middle of a hazy void, and in the distance was another castle on island with black spires jutting from the surface. The Black City. They were in the Fade.

The demon resembling Fergus leapt over the table swinging his sword. Conrí blocked the blade with his gauntlet, rammed the pommel of his sword into the gut of the demon before pivoting on his heel and piercing the blade through his brother's Doppelganger. The Eleanor look-alike drew a long, wicked dagger and swung at Erin. Erin raised her arm and trapped the demon's in against her body before driving her main-hand sword through the demons chest.

While Erin dispatched the creature with her mother's face, Conrí was swinging his claymore at the beast that wore his father's form with intent to kill. He finally managed to sweep his blade at an angle that severed the creature's leg. The beast fell, crying out in agony.

"Please pup, don't do this..." the demon-Bryce pleaded as Conrí moved to stand over it. Conrí said nothing, raising his sword. "My master can give you whatever you want… anything you wish," the demon made one last plea, but Conrí was unmoved.

"What I want back, you cannot give me," he growled, plunging his blade through the demon's head.

The twins stood where they are for a long moment before turning to each other. Conrí let his sword stand where it was and made his way to his panting and trembling sister. When he came within arm's reach, Erin dropped her swords with a sob. Conrí pulled her into his arms and the pair collapsed. Erin's quiet sobs racked her frame as she clutched her brother. Conrí gripped her tighter, tears pouring down his own face.

Wounds that had barely stopped bleeding and had not yet even begun to heal had been torn open again. The pain they had tried so hard to ignore had come back in full force. Their parents were dead… many of their childhood friends… Ser Gilmore… Even Fergus might be gone…

The twins, the last two of House Cousland, had never felt so alone.

* * *

After many long minutes the pair separated. If they were trapped in the Fade, odds were the others who had been with them were as well. With one last sorrowful look back at the ruined mockery of their home, the twins stepped through the main doors and into the Fade proper. This being the first time they had been in the Fade aware, the pair couldn't help but look around in wonder. Books and lectures had done little justice to the amazing, yet terrifying world they now strolled through. All around were islands, each of varying size and elevation compared to the one they stood on.

"Is… is this what a mage experiences every time they sleep?" Erin asked.

"I'd imagine so…" Conrí murmured.

"Who are you?" asked a voice.

The twins spun to face the newcomer, weapons drawn.

* * *

A hulking golem backhanded a shade into oblivion as a floating corpse froze a rage demon in place with a wave of its hand. The corpse raised its hand again. With a hiss, it clenched its fist, psychically crushing the frozen demon into shards. After being sure there were no more demons around, the unusual pair nodded to each other, and in a flash of light, Conrí and Erin took the place of the golem and Arcane Horror respectively.

After speaking to Niall, the mage they encountered in the Raw Fade, the pair had made their way to each of the islands surrounding what Niall told them must be Sloth's location. On each island they found other dreamers trapped by Sloth, and they gave the twins powers to take other forms. They were on the final island that was locking the way to the demon.

Conrí kicked down a door. Standing over a dead templar in the middle of the room was a female demon. She smirked and cackled. "Catch me if you can!" she taunted before morphing into a mouse and scurrying down a nearby hole.

"Come on!" Conrí barked, changing again, this time to the first form he and Erin learned. A pair of mice followed their quarry down the hole.

"The game isn't over mortals," the Pride demon cackled as they returned to their true forms.

"It seems we disagree on that point," Conrí growled, drawing his Greatsword.

"You and your master will pay for what you did here," Erin snapped, rolling her shoulders before settling into a fighting stance.

The demon chuckled. "We shall see. I am not like the others you've slain here, mortals. You have no chance against Vereveel!"

Despite the demon's bravado, the fight that followed was almost pathetically easy. They found the demon to be very susceptible to spirit based attacks, so a double teamed Crushing Prison from their Spirit forms nearly reduced the creature to a paste.

The pair barely spared the dead demon a glance before moving towards the pedestal that had materialized near the back of the room. The symbol for the island they were on was now glowing brightly. Conrí frowned as he noticed several more glowing symbols encircling the ones they had used to find Sloth's lieutenants. "Look at this," he said, pointing them out. "What are they, do you think?"

"Other islands, maybe?" Erin guessed. "The one…" she swallowed hard. "The one we were on is here," Erin pointed to the symbol closest to the top. "And that means the others might be on these," her finger trailed along the outer rim of the symbols.

"So, we just pick one," Conrí sighed. "You ready?"

Erin nodded and the twins both put a finger on the symbol. After a moment, the symbol began glowing brightly just as the others had. Another moment and a swirling vortex of violet light surrounded them and the pedestal.

* * *

Blair stood with her hands behind her back, watching her newest recruits. They were good, but could still use the training she would provide. "Come on; left, right, parry!" she barked, sternly watching the men train. "That's the spirit!" She occasionally stepped in to correct someone's stance or grip.

A soldier under her command ran up, stopping only to salute. "Commander Tabris, ser!" he barked. "You have a pair of visitors. I told them you were busy, but they insisted. Should I have them escorted away?"

Blair frowned slightly. "Insisted? Well, if it is so important, who are they?"

"They claimed to be Grey Wardens, Ser."

"Ah..." Blair sighed slightly. "Yes, then it is important. Send them here," She turned back to the recruits. "Continue your training. I will be back shortly." She stood a few steps away so she could speak in privacy with her guests.

As Blair expected, Conrí and Erin Cousland entered the courtyard. "Blair," Conrí greeted her extending his hand. "Glad to see you're alright."

Blair gave a small smile. "Of course I am. It is good to see that you are both well, too."

"I understand you're busy," Conrí prompted. "But could you spare a few moments to speak?"

"The recruits can look after themselves for a while, yes," Blair noted the soldier still standing around awkwardly, waiting for orders. "That will be all, thank you - return to your duties."

"Ser!" the soldier saluted and walked back into the training area.

"Things have been going well for you," Conrí commented.

"They have," Blair allowed herself a rare true smile. "At least in a dream we're entitled to happiness, isn't that so?"

Conrí sighed. "So you know. And yet you remain."

"Can you blame me?" Blair asked. "Look, Conrí," she gestured around her at the courtyard. "Look around you. Look what you see. I remember very well where I come from, and that this cannot be. Yet, this is all I ever wanted. Do I believe it to be real? No. Yet it is the most beautiful and tempting of fantasies... and I am sorry, but I do not wish to leave it."

Erin sighed wearily. "Blair, we understand where you're coming from. Our dream... was not so different," Erin glanced at her brother. "We were back in Highever. Howe's attack never happened, the Blight was ended at Ostagar... our parents were still alive... but it was a lie... We had to kill our brother... Our parents..." she sniffed and shook her head to fight tears. "I know they were naught but demons in disguise, but it still cut deep."

"I am sorry to hear that," Blair told her sympathetically. "I know you have gone through a lot... and there is more yet to come, if you truly intend to return to fighting the blight."

Conrí grimaced. "You intend to remain here." It wasn't a question.

"I am sorry." Blair seemed genuinely apologetic, but she hadn't changed her mind.

Conrí shook his head. "You know, we haven't known each other longer than a month, but I never thought you weak, Blair."

Blair frowned, a bit offended and hurt. "Weak? You think me weak for wishing to remain here?"

"Wishing? No," Conrí growled. "I think you weak for choosing to remain here. If you do, the Sloth demon will sap you of your vitality until you're nothing but a memory."

"I... that..." Blair seemed irritated at the logic she was being presented with.

"You have a family waiting for you in Denerim, no?" Conrí pressed on. "What was your cousin's name? Shianni? Would she be pleased to see you willing to cast your life aside for a fever dream?"

"I..." the fight left Blair, her shoulders slumped. "You are right... so right. How could I have been so blind...?" she took one final wistful look at her most desired dream, then fire returned to her eyes. "Commander... lead on. How do we get out of here?"

"There's some kind of pedestal back there," Erin jerked her head toward the way she and Conrí had come.

"Commander, where are you going?" the soldier from before had wandered back over to them.

"I have... something important to attend to. Do tell the king I will..." Blair shook her head. "What am I even doing? What point is there continuing these fake conversations with the demons?

"Come, commander," the demon implored. "You're happy here. Didn't we give you everything you wanted in life?"

"Yes, that you did," Blair slowly drew her wicked blades. "And yet... it seems duty in the physical world calls."

The soldier sighed and his voice toke on a demonic double pitch. "A shame. Our master worked so hard for you." More soldiers poured into the courtyard from behind the trio of Wardens. "Kill them!"

"It seems they won't let us go without a fight, Conrí!" Blair flipped her blades one more time and ducked into fighting stance, ready to defend against the onslaught.

"I suspected as much," Conrí smirked. "We have little time. Erin, you take Spirit, I'll take Golem." Erin nodded and transformed alongside her brother.

Blair's eyes widened slightly. "That... well," she chuckled. "That would come in handy." Already the demons were upon her and the fighting began. Blair's daggers danced in her hands as she cut through the creatures.

Conrí swung a heavy stone arm in an arc at a group of demons, sending them flying, hitting walls, weapon racks and training dummies. Erin hissed and sent a stream of icy wind at another group, freezing them solid, helpless as to stop Conrí's battering ram-like punches while Blair tore through some of the recruit-looking demons with mumbles of, "I'm sorry," and "Forgive me."

Conrí grabbed the last demon in his granite fists, lifted it above his head and bent it in half backwards. Once he and Erin were sure there were no more demons present, the twins shifted back., "Come on. We'll show you how the pedestal works. Sooner we have everyone, the better."

Blair nodded, wiped her blades clean and sheathed them. "Yes, let us not dally."

"It's rather straight forward, really," Conrí commented. "I thought magic was supposed to be convoluted... Anyway, just press your finger to a rune and off you go. We're going in order along these," he pointed out the runes on the outer rim of the rough circular top. "Your island is here," he pointed to the first rune. "So, we head here next," he finished, gesturing to the rune next to Blair's.

"Well, then what are we waiting for?" Blair asked, reaching out. Conrí and Erin followed her example, each pressing a finger to the rune.

* * *

Conrí glanced about him. He'd only seen paintings of this place, but he was almost certain he and the others stood in Weisshaupt.

Several long tables were laid out within the Great Hall, a number of Wardens taking a morning repast, but the figure he was looking for was sat at the far end of the table to his left. Duncan…. Or rather… a creature taking his shape. His feet rested on the table, and an amused smile crossed his lips as he sipped what looked to be freshly squeezed orange juice from his goblet.

"Good of you to join us, Blair, Erin, Conrí. I trust my summons hasn't distracted you for your… important affairs, Lieutenant?" Duncan questioned, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. Conrí rolled his eyes, with a minor blush. Of course these creatures would know of his youthful… adventures. And he hadn't really refrained since his joining… there was that rather attractive archer at Ostagar.

"Well, well, well" a familiar voice from behind him spoke in a jovial tone. "What have we here?"

"Alistair!" Conrí crowed, relieved. "When'd you get here?"

"Less than an hour ago; business in Denerim went smoothly, and Cailan's as happy to see me as ever, but it's good to be back somewhere they don't look at Wardens with suspicion. I'll say this for the Anderfells; at least us Wardens always get a good reception here!" Alistair joked.

"It's good to see you again, Alistair. I'm sure you'll come to enjoy Weisshaupt as much as the others do," Duncan smiled placidly, turning his attention back to the Cousland youth. "You've been here for a good few months, haven't you, Conrí? You like it here, don't you?"

"Aye, it's a beautiful fortress," Conrí agreed, hoping to ease Alistair back into reality. He was a good lad, but shocking him wouldn't be good. "Not that I'm eager to leave this place, but when will I be assigned back to active duty? I've never been one to sit idle for any length of time, and I imagine there are still darkspawn out there in need of a sword through the heart!"

Duncan looked at him askance and spoke in a concerned tone, but the worry didn't reach his eyes. "Conrí, are you feeling well? You must remember the darkspawn are gone. You were there at the last great battle. Surely you must remember? The great victory at Ostagar? Ah, that was a triumph for us all," Duncan smiled, admiring the mosaic of Dumat's death. "Bringing down the archdemon, chasing those vermin back into the Deep Roads and setting their underground lairs ablaze once and for all!" Duncan concluded, turning his attention to Alistair. "Help me, remind him what happened."

Alistair opened his mouth to speak, and then fell silent, looking utterly confused. "That's strange...it's really fuzzy."

Seeing the opportunity, Blair pressed on. "But what will become of the Grey Wardens now?"

"The Grey Wardens shall be keepers of history." Duncan's gaze had returned to them, the tone of his voice firmly indicating that Blair should already know the answer to her question. "We shall tell tales and sing songs of a more tumultuous time, that others may rejoice in knowing that time is past."

Erin smirked, seeing Alistair's expression shift to one of suspicion. She had not known Duncan very long, but from what she could remember, the Warden Commander was a warrior and a crusader who would never willingly set aside his charge.

"The Duncan I know would not rest upon his laurels," Conrí growled.

The Warden-Commander sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. His expression was now benevolent and amused, like a father watching his son trying to play at grown-ups. "The Duncan you knew was a man forged in the fires of war. I am different now, at peace. I have learned to be tranquil."

There were a great many words Conrí knew he could use to describe Duncan, but tranquil was certainly not one of them. The Duncan he knew, the one who had constantly reminded all of the threat posed by the Blight, would never simply assume the threat was over. Even if the Blight was ended and the darkspawn were pushed back, he would remain vigilant, ever wary that they might return and ready for the day that they did. The Duncan Conrí knew would never dismiss the threat in so blasé a manner.

"The darkspawn will never truly be gone; two more Old Gods remain, and while they live, so too will the threat of the Blights," Conrí snapped. "It is reckless and arrogant to assume the darkspawn are gone; the kingdoms of Thedas did that after the Fourth Blight, and look what came of it!"

At this, Duncan looked round and actually glared at him. Conrí stood his ground at the baleful look in the older Warden's eyes, and that was when he saw it; Duncan's eyes had acquired a malevolent gleam that looked all too familiar...

"Foolish child. I have given you so much and you cast it back in my face. Can you not be content with the peace I offer?"

It was no longer Duncan speaking, but something behind him, operating the Warden like a puppet. The voice had taken on the familiar echo and Conrí's hand quickly moved to the hilt of his claymore. He looked Duncan in the eye. "You offer complacency, not peace."

The hall shimmered as Duncan got to his feet, a look of fury on his face. The mask the demon wore was slipping; Duncan's brown eyes had become cold black orbs, devoid of pupil or iris, and his teeth had become jagged and curved, more like those of a shark… or an abomination. The demon-Duncan spat hatefully at Conrí's feet and rasped, "It seems only war and death with satisfy you. So be it. Have your war and your darkspawn – may they be your doom!"

Duncan's hand flew to the hilt of his sword, and Conrí prepared himself for the attack. But before either of them could move, the blade of a sword erupted from Duncan's chest. The older Warden gasped in shock, choking up blood that spilled down his beard and chin and spreading across his armor like a blooming rose; he and Conrí looked round, both stunned to see that the sword was in the hands of Alistair.

"Why?" Duncan, or the thing pretending to be Duncan, spoke in a weak voice. "Why would you do this?"

"Because you're not Duncan" Alistair replied in a flat voice. "I remember now. Ostagar, Cailan, Loghain… Duncan. Duncan is dead. _You_ are not Duncan! Just an empty, horrid thing wearing his image!"

The demon-Duncan snarled angrily and tried to turn on Alistair, but before it could, a Greatsword slashed out and severed the fiend's head. The decapitated body remained upright for a moment, then it and Duncan's severed head collapsed into dark mist that quickly dissipated into nothing.

"Blast, how did I not see…" Alistair muttered. To his fellows shock, Alistair's body started becoming transparent. Wait! Where are you going? What's happening to me? Hey!" Alistair called out, but the others had no time to reply or help him before Alistair vanished altogether.

"What on earth?" Erin asked. "Why did he vanish like that?! Is he alright?"

"Hopefully we'll find out soon…" Conrí muttered.

* * *

The trio was standing on the island in the middle of Lake Calenhad, rain pouring down heavily, and the tower loomed overhead. Conrí had a strong suspicion who he would find trapped here.

But as they began to approach the tower, the Wardens could clearly see something was very wrong; the tower was a ruin. The upper levels of the tower were gone, ripped away by something of incredible strength and power. It burned, even in the pouring rain. Whether from magic, or dragon's fire, they couldn't hazard a guess. As far as they could see through the rain pelting down, bodies littered the ground. The armored and robed corpses of templars and mages, the malformed bodies of abominations and lifeless bodies just as unnerving and familiar. The corpses of genlocks and Hurlocks.

And even though it was raining, the sky above was the deep red of an open wound. In its present state, the Circle had never stood a chance against the Blight. The Circle had been destroyed.

That was when Conrí realized the demon hadn't trapped Wynne in a dream involving her fondest wishes; she was trapped in her worst nightmare. At that, Conrí quickened his steps. _We have to find Wynne and get her out of here as soon as possible, _he thought.

It didn't take them long to find Wynne, alone outside the main entrance to the tower, on her knees, surrounded by the bodies of several young mages. The corpses of several templars also lay ranged outside the entrance, surrounded by the bodies of a score of darkspawn, though whether the templars had cut down the mages and then been set upon by the darkspawn, or died trying to protect their charges from the monsters, Conrí couldn't tell. Sat alone in the middle of the carnage was Wynne, on her knees in the mud, her hair wet and disheveled, tears streaming down her face as she cradled the body of a young male elf in her arms, rocking the body and sobbing quietly to herself.

"Maker, I failed them. They died and I did not stop it."

"But they're not dead, Wynne. The Circle can still be saved," Conrí reasoned, but Wynne would not be comforted.

"What about all this? How can you say that when you are faced with all this?" she sobbed. "Death. Can't you see it? It's all around us. Why was I spared if not to help them? What use is my life now I have failed in the task that was given to me?" she murmured to herself, ignoring the Warden as she shifted through the detritus, shifting aside weapons and corpses until she found a shovel. Getting to her feet, ignoring the Wardens, Wynne began to dig into the wet earth.

"Leave me to my grief," she said over her shoulder, not bothering to look at him. "I shall bury their bones, scatter their ashes and mourn their passing until I too am dead."

"Oh for the love of the Maker, this pity for demons is really starting to get tiresome," Erin snapped, hoping to get a reaction out of the old mage that might snap her out of her self-pity. At this, Wynne whirled round, a look of outrage in her eyes and magical power coalescing in her hands. Erin felt a little unease at the sight but she couldn't back down; to do so would leave Wynne to the demon's mercy.

"Your blatant disregard for the souls of the dead strikes me as utterly inappropriate. And where were you when this happened?" she snapped as an afterthought, glaring at the three Wardens. "I trusted you as allies and you were nowhere to be found!"

"Wake up!" Conrí roared. "Can't you tell this is the Fade? Are you a mage or not?"

This time, Conrí could see his words had had an effect; the anger on Wynne's face faded, replaced by uncertainty. She began to look around her surroundings, examining them as though she had never seen them before.

"The… the Fade? I had not considered that; I have always had an affinity for the Fade, and I assumed I would be able to recognize it," The old mage placed her hand to her brow, as though suffering a severe headache. "It is… difficult to focus… I've never had such trouble concentrating… it's as if something is blocking me… perhaps some time away from here will do me good."

Before they could do anything, the young elf mage whom Wynne had been holding sat up, in spite of a gaping wound in his chest. His eyes were pleading, but Blair could see they were pupil-less black orbs; this was no innocent apprentice.

"Don't leave us, Wynne!" the apprentice whimpered, extending a hand in entreaty. "We don't want to be alone!" he gestured to a number of other apprentices, getting back to their feet in spite of the fatal wounds they had suffered.

"Holy Maker! Stay away, foul creature!" Wynne yelped in horror, holding her staff in a threatening manner but the demons masquerading as her former charges didn't heed the warning.

"Stay, Wynne. Sleep soundly in the comforting embrace of the earth. Do not fight it, you belong here… with us..." the demon-elf finished with a sad, pitying sigh.

"No, my task is not done… it is not yet my time!" Wynne yelled as she shot an arcane bolt at the elf, blasting the creature into pieces. Conrí drew his sword and motioned for the others. "Let us finish this and be done."

It was over in less time than it had taken to convince Wynne to leave; the demons were as adept at combat as the apprentices they had impersonated, and could only use the most rudimentary magic. Wynne summoned torrents of ice and frost to entrap the demons, long enough for Conrí, Erin and Blair to sever heads, slash throats and pierce hearts. Soon enough, the demons were destroyed. As the last of the demon-apprentices fell, its body dissipating into black mist, Wynne fell to her knees, sobbing in relief. She had taken fighting those closest to her no better than Conrí and Erin had.

"Thank the Maker it is over," Wynne gasped in relief, before confusion entered her voice as her form became more translucent. "Wait… where are you going?"

She was gone before they could answer.

* * *

The trio found themselves in an open field, not far from a decent size log cabin.

"So..." Erin drawled. "Who do you think this belongs to?"

Blair looked around in confusion. "I couldn't possibly imagine. This... does not match any of our companions from what I know... but then, what DO we truly know about each other? We have yet not been travelling together long, even though our plight makes us grow closer."

"Well, yours was in Denerim, and of us, only you were a native," Erin pointed out.

"So mine was self-explanatory," Blair nodded, seeing the logic. "But this? Here? Where might we be?"

Erin frowned slightly. "Conrí... I think... we've been here before..."

"Aye..." Conrí agreed. "This looks like the outskirts of Lothering... Leliana?"

"But the log cabin?" Blair pointed out. "Would she not most likely be back at her chantry?"

Erin sighed in exasperation. "Well we won't find out standing around like a bunch of idiots."

"Fair point," Conrí agreed, as he walked up to the door and knocked.

A familiar voice with an unfamiliar tone chirped joyfully from inside. "Just a moment!" there was shuffling around and small noises as the owner approached the door.

Blair was stunned. "Is... that...?"

"It... can't be," Conrí breathed.

"Can it?" Erin asked.

The door opens and a truly radiant Tristan stood there, smiling broadly when he recognized his visitors. "No, it can't be. But it is! Conrí! Erin! Blair! Oh, but where are my manners? Come in! Come in! I'll make you some tea, I found some spectacular herbs just yesterday..." he was already ushering the three of them in and bustling about.

Blair was shell shocked and Conrí didn't fare much better, but he found his voice. "I see you've been... busy," he said, noting the pretty young woman already at the kitchen table. She smiled, but the warmth didn't met her oddly colored eyes.

"Well, of course! Blight over, Archdemon slain, as if by a miracle we all survived, and the Chantry agreed to give up my phylactery! In my wildest dreams I never dared to wish for such freedom, such luck! Conrí, truly... Duncan walking into the tower that day was probably the best thing that could have ever happened to me. Well, besides meeting my lovely wife, of course," he sent his "wife" a warm smile as he poured their tea. "But now, tell me? What brings you three here? Is there anyone else still coming, or is it just you?"

Blair managed to mumble and accept the tea. She cleared her throat before speaking. "Well you seem well and truly... pleased and happy..."

"And I hate to drag you away from..." Conrí cleared his throat. "Well, your dream, but something's come up," he took a sip of the steaming herbal tea.

Tristan smiled amiably. This more worried the trio more than his bad temper ever did. "Oh Conrí, always with your duty. Just relax, will you? You've only just arrived!"

"For a mage he is exceptionally far gone..." Blair muttered quietly to Erin from behind her cup.

"No kidding," Erin said out of the corner of her mouth. The woman sent them a cool glare that went unnoticed by Tristan.

"Believe me, I'd love to but," Conrí shook his head. "I can't. Neither can you, if I'm honest."

Tristan gave an indulgent sigh. "Oh well, if you feel like you really must, go on and tell me about what has you so worried."

Conrí set down his cup on its saucer. "That's just it. You're a mage. You should already know."

Tristan's brow furrowed, "Mage... should know? Well yes there is something..." he shook his head when his "wife" laid a hand on his arm. "Oh, Conrí. What worries are you tossing on me? Don't you see it's a beautiful day?"

"I believe the issue is not that he _can't_ see, but rather that he _won't_," Blair deduced. "Different side to the same coin I was representing, it seems."

"Tristan?" Conrí asked firmly. "What is the last thing you remember before waking up in your bed?"

Tristan fell silent, thinking truthfully for a moment. Slowly, his face fell from the smile back to his usual scowl. "No... but that... a lie... this is all a lie... this cannot be…"

"Darling?" the woman asked, speaking for the first time.

"Don't darling me!" Tristan hissed, shooting from his chair.

"I am sorry, Tristan," Blair told him softly. "We all have left beautiful dreams behind to realize the truth."

Tristan was apocalyptic. "How dare you?!" he snarled at his the demon masquerading as his wife. "You bitch! You took what I wanted most to… to kill me?"

"Darling, please… did I not make you happy? Is this not what you truly wanted in your life?" her form shifted, taking on the shape of a desire demon. "Stay, and be happy forever."

Tristan snarled. "I'd rather live in the real world than die here!" With an angry gesture and a hissed spell, the demon was frozen where she stood. A moment later, a fist sized sphere of stone erupted from beneath the floor and smashed into the frozen demon, shattering her. "Those damn demons..." he stomped to the corner to grab his staff. Angry sparks come off the head as he whirled back towards the others. "Well, what are we waiting for!? Let's give those bastards hell!"

"There's the Tristan we all know," Conrí muttered.

Blair stood with a battle-ready smirk. "Good to have you back, Tristan," she said.

"So, where do we go first?" Tristan asked before he started to fade much like Wynne and Alistair had. "Wait, why is my vision... what is going on, where are you going!?"

Conrí sighed in agitation. "It looks like we have two left," Erin said as they left the cabin. "Leliana and Tira."

"Then let's go," Said Blair. "The quicker we make it out of here, the better."

"Very true," Conrí agreed. "Let's go."

"Where is the next pedestal...?" Blair asked as she cast her eyes around.

"There," Conrí pointed next to the house. It stood next to the well on the property.

"Come on," Erin said, leading the way over to the device. "Two left..." she muttered, pressing a finger to a rune.

* * *

As the eldritch light faded, Blair glanced around her new surroundings with interest.

"A forest," Conrí rumbled. "Unless Leliana is hiding a desire to dodge bears all day, I'd hazard a guess this is Tira's dream."

Erin smacked the side of her neck. "Of course the bugs would be around too," she griped.

"The dreams are not enticing or enchanting if they are not also realistic," Blair pointed out pragmatically. Erin grumbled to herself as they continued on.

A tattooed elf emerged from the trees, his bow drawn. "Hold there, Shemlen," he barked. "What business do you have here?"

"I'm the Warden Commander of Fereldan," Conrí told the elf. "I need to speak with Tira Mahariel."

Tira followed her clansmen from the forest. "_Hamin_, Tamlen," she called. "These are _Falon_!" Tira smiled at the group. "_Aneth ara_, my friends! How good it is to see you again! What brings you to the Dalish?"

"It's good to see you as well, Tira," Conrí nodded with a slight smile. "It's Warden business, I'm afraid."

"Speak your mind, Lethallin. You know the Dalish are ever on your side, as am I," Tira told him with a kind smile.

"Did you have any strange dreams last night?" Conrí asked, getting straight to the point.

Tira cocked her head curiously. "How strange that you should mention it. I did have a vision, perhaps a memory, from our Darkspawn fighting days. It was most troubling, though thank Mythal that time is behind us," her expression become concerned. "Why... did you also see something?"

"If only it truly was behind us," Blair sighed. She was still haunted by dreams of Ostagar and all that had led up to her joining the Wardens.

"What did you see?" Conrí continued.

"It is..." Tira frowned and lifted a hand to her forehead. "Most hazy now... this is strange, I cannot quite seem to remember anymore..."

"It's important," Erin insisted. "Try to remember."

Tamlen began to look even more unfriendly and other Dalish with malevolent expressions begin to appear out of the tree line.

"It seems to be working..." Blair commented, her fingers playing with the hilts of her weapons.

Tira hissed quietly. "Wait... the Blight... it is not over, is it...?" she grimaced in pain as she struggled hard to remember.

"Tira," Erin pressed further. "Remember the tower..."

The other Dalish all exploded into their true demonic forms, shrieking. "NO, YOU WILL NOT TAKE HER FROM US!" bellowed the beast that had worn Tamlen's face.

It finally clicked in Tira's mind. "Of course, the tower! How could I forget!? How could I not see!?" her face contorted in rage. "Conrí, Erin, Blair, I am with you." She drew her mismatched blades, ready for the fight.

"Good timing, Tira!" Blair crowed, drawing her daggers and launching herself at the nearest demon with bloodlust.

Conrí and Erin both shifted into their final form that had any use in combat. Their flesh was replaced by flames surrounding their skeletons. Baleful yellow light shined from their eye sockets as they drew their burning swords. With a wordless howl, the burning creatures threw themselves at the demons.

Tira was furious at the deception these accursed creatures had played on her. Masquerading as her family, her friends. _Tamlen…_ With a snarl like a rabid wolf, Tira slashed like a woman possessed through the demons.

Between the twins and Tira, Blair had little to clean up in the wake of the fiery destruction… both literal and emotional. Erin and Conrí shifted back, sheathing their blades.

"Tira...?" Erin asked uncertainly.

The Dalish Warden was breathing heavily as she stood amidst the remains of the camp. "I... I am fine," She said at last, though no one was convinced. "Ma serannas... you came not a moment too soon, it seems."

"Tira," Erin whispered. "I'm sorry... but..."

"It had to be done," Conrí rumbled softly.

"I know," Tira nodded, still facing away from them, her hoarse voice revealing the tears she hid from them. "I do not resent you for waking me up…"

"Come," Conrí beckoned. "We still have one more companion to free."

"Of course... wait... where are you? Why can I not see you? Conrí? Erin? Blair!?" Tira vanished just as everyone but Blair had.

"Andraste's great flaming ass, why does that keep happening?" Conrí barked in exasperation.

"It is... certainly unsettling," Blair allowed.

Conrí sighed heavily. "Let's go get our resident Sister."

"The last one, luckily. Let us go."

Conrí nodded and headed for the pedestal next to what had once been Tira's aravel.

* * *

The smell of incense hung heavily in the air, a heady mix of vanilla and myrrh adding to the holy air projected to those within the Lothering Chantry. Leliana made her way to the pews before the statue of Andraste behind the altar, smiling and inclining her head to the people within the Chantry; her fellow lay-brothers and sisters, the ordained priestesses tending to the need of the villagers, the few templars. Revered Mother Jessica was knelt before the statue, silently praying; she looked up as Leliana approached, gave her a soft smile and motioned for the lay sister to join her.

Once again, the peace and contentment the Lothering Chantry had brought into her life filled her, and Leliana was glad of it. Here she had a chance to repent for all the evil things she had done, in the safety of strong walls that had been her refuge from the storm and the company of good people, friends who had shown her nothing but kindness, understanding and a chance to obtain the forgiveness she so desperately desired as she gladly accepted the peace that filled her heart. It was a reassuring feeling. She was safe, inside strong walls that had never failed to protect her, and a grace bestowed by the Maker.

A noise disturbed her praying; the sound of armored boots crossing the stone floor. Ignoring the intrusion as probably little more than one of the templars on patrol, Leliana returned to her prayers.

"Blessed art thou who exist in the sight of the Maker. Blessed art thou who seeks his forgiveness, blessed art thou who seeks his return..."

"Leliana?" Out of politeness, she lifted her head to acknowledge the speaker, and was surprised to see a young man wearing a suit of steel plate standing before her, a woman who could pass for his sister and an elven lass flanking him. At a guess, she would have thought him a landless knight or a wandering adventurer, but she didn't know him, even from her time in Orlais, so the look of relief in his eyes was most surprising. "You're a hard woman to find, you know."

"Who are you?" Leliana asked, nervous. The man's smile dropped, a confused expression replacing it on his face. Before she could respond, Revered Mother Jessica put a hand on her shoulder, speaking firmly.

"I beg you, good ser, please do not disturb the girl's meditations. She is trying to find peace." To Leliana's shock, the man glared malevolently at the Revered Mother. The older woman, caught a little off guard, stepped aside, annoyance at the disrespect shown flaring in her eyes.

"Revered Mother," Leliana said nervously, "I do not know these people." There was something about the man that made her extremely uncomfortable, as though his very existence was a violation of what should be.

"We're friends? Don't you remember?" the man pressed, confusion replacing anger.

"I-I'm sorry… I don't know what you are talking about…" Leliana replied in a placating tone, trying to make the poor fellow understand. She could not fail to notice the sword sheathed at the man's waist, and she got the feeling this was not a man she wanted to provoke to violence. Fortunately, the Revered Mother stepped in to try and help her before the man sinfully brought violence into the Chantry.

"Please, do not vex her. She needs quiet and solitude, to calm her mind and heal her heart." Leliana relaxed as the older woman placed a soothing hand on the young warrior's shoulder. This instantly became panic as the man angrily slapped the hand aside and, whirling around, seized the Revered Mother by the throat and slammed her into the wall.

"Be silent, demonic filth! I wasn't addressing you!" the young man bellowed in her face, but Revered Mother Jessica's reaction was something none of them expected; with strength no-one her age could feasibly possess, she threw off the man's hand and hit him full in the face, sending him flying across the Chantry; he landed heavily on the floor, looking up at the Revered Mother, and it was hard to tell which of them was looking at the other with more hate.

"How dare you! How dare you compare me to those monstrous things!" Revered Mother Jessica shrieked, apoplectic with fury, her face red with anger as she raised her hand to take another swing at him.

"Please, Revered Mother," Leliana pleaded. "This young man is clearly not in his right mind, perhaps we should take him somewhere he can recover himself."

Revered Mother Jessica sighed and clapped Leliana on the shoulder. Nodding, she snapped her fingers; two of the templars on duty picked the fellow up and began to drag the man towards the exit, but the man struggled against them all the way. His companions moved quickly after them.

"Take your hands off me, you demonic brutes! Leliana, listen to me! This isn't real!"

"I don't understand…" Everything still looked solid, and the pressure of the woman's hand on her arms was strong enough, but his outburst had seemed to make everything seem unclear, even wrong. Her mind was rebelling against something she could not comprehend, and she attempted to push Conrí, Erin and Blair out of her mind.

…_How do I know their names?_

As the templars reached the door with their struggling burden, the man caught Leliana's eye; looking straight at her, he yelled at Leliana. "Don't you remember why you left the cloister?"

The shout stopped the templars in their tracks and silence fell. Leliana was about to reply that Conrí was mistaken, that she had lived in the Chantry all her life, when something pushed into her head. It sat at odds with what she thought she remembered, and despite herself visions of an impenetrable darkness, the beating of leathery wings, a ghastly screech of rage and hate, and a rose came into her head.

"I remember… there was a sign…" she murmured. It seemed so far away, like a dream she could barely remember... Leliana wanted nothing more for Conrí to go away. He was disturbing her now, disrupting what she thought to be real, and she didn't want to think about whatever he was trying to convey to her was. Revered Mother Jessica spoke to her, gently with a sympathetic, almost pitying smile, although she kept shooting venomous looks at the fellow.

"Leliana, we have discussed this… sign of yours. The Maker does not care to interfere in the affairs of mortals. This 'vision' was likely the work of demons."

"Do not listen to her! Trust in what you believe!" Erin pleaded, prying the templars' grip off her brother. Revered Mother Jessica glared at her, but Leliana somehow could not deny the truth of her words.

"The Maker cares for us. I believe He misses his wayward children as much as we miss Him. My vision may not be from Him, but it urges me to do what is right. _My_ Revered Mother knew this. I don't know who you are, but you are not her." Stepping away from the Revered Mother's side, she took a step towards Conrí.

"We need to go," Erin said simply. "Soon as you're ready."

"Let's go," Leliana said, slowly. "My head has not yet cleared, but there is something familiar about you and I… I think I can trust you." But before she could take a step towards the door, the Revered Mother's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, speaking in a pleading voice.

"This is your home, your refuge. Stay and know peace."

"There is no need. I carry the peace of the Chantry in my heart." She tried to ease her grip from the Revered Mother's grip, but the old woman's grasp tightened into a painful vice. Leliana gasped in pain, and saw to her horror, the Revered Mother's fingernails lengthening into yellowed claws. She looked up and screamed in horror at the sight; Revered Mother Jessica's face was altering horrifically. She no longer possessed warm, sympathetic brown eyes, but orbs of jet, devoid of mercy and her face was set in a foul grimace, baring a mouth full of snake-like fangs.

"You are going nowhere, girl," the Revered Mother snarled, and her voice sounded strange, suddenly, as though there were two people speaking at once. "I will not permit it." Leliana tugged uselessly against the vice-like grip, and Conrí drew his sword.

"We are leaving whether you like it or not," he said, pointing his sword at the Revered Mother's chest. "Now release her or die!"

"No," the Revered Mother cackled. "She is ours, now and forever!" Leliana's fingernails scrabbled at the woman's hand, watching in horror as the familiar features contorted, elongating and sharpening, and then she was looking into the slavering face of something more horrible than her mind could comprehend, and it was hurting her, determined not to let her go – any moment now her wrist would break and the demon would gorge upon her mind, leave her nothing but a twisted and broken husk…

The demon suddenly shrieked as Blair leaped onto its back, stabbing a wicked dagger into its shoulder, rendering it useless. The demon howled, desperately shaking itself, but it still refused to release Leliana as it tried to throw Blair off. Had it released Leliana to free its other hand to fight, it might have succeeded, but with both arms out of use, the demon was helpless.

"Die!" Blair snarled as she stabbed with her other blade piercing the demon's chest where its heart would be. The fiend shrieked in pain, releasing Leliana as it desperately tried to seal the fatal wound, but to no avail. Its twisted shape began to break apart, its limbs, torso and finally its head dissolving into black mist that swiftly dissipated into nothingness.

Leliana barely paid the demon's destruction and the dissolution of the Chantry any heed. Her memories were flooding back in a dizzying rush, and she felt sick as some were restored that she had never wanted to think of again. Every mistake, every callous and cruel thing she had done, all the pain, the misery, the betrayal…

Leliana didn't know when she started sobbing; all she knew was that when she did, she heard a clatter as the sword fell to the ground, and she found herself enfolded in Conrí's arms. The Warden, who moments before had been a wrathful destroyer, held her as gently as if she were a porcelain doll, "It's alright, you're safe now."

"She – she was a…"

"That was not your Revered Mother, Leliana," Conrí said steadily. "That was just a demon."

"I know… I know." Leliana struggled to calm herself, wiping away the tears and looking up at Conrí as she still remembered they had much to do; to confront the sloth demon and save the Circle. As she looked up at her savior, she noticed, not for the first time, how truly handsome he was. He smiled gently, his eyes warm. She blushed and ducked her head, noticing her hands were becoming transparent.

"What's happening to me?" she cried, trying to suppress a note of hysteria in her voice. Conrí said something she couldn't hear, and then she was enveloped by the thick green mists of the Fade, and knew no more.

* * *

Conrí felt uneasy. He was standing before a stone doorway ringed with glowing blue runes, invitingly held open. There was no doubt; they was being toyed with. What lay beyond the doorway was almost certainly a trap, but did they have a choice? They needed a way out of the Fade, and the only certain way was to kill the demon.

For a moment, Conrí thought about his companions. With the exception of Erin and Blair, he had no idea where the others were, and how they felt about him interfering in their dreams, their visions of peace. Part of him felt like a voyeur, intruding in their most intimate desires, but the more rational part of his mind knocked sense into him; the dreams were lies conjured to imprison them and if he left them to it, they would all die. He needed them.

The door opened before him, and he stepped into the demon's inner sanctum.

What he saw both astounded and revolted him.

Before him lay the great hall of the Royal Palace, exactly as he remembered it; the opulent chamber hung with trophies and paintings illuminating the illustrious history of the royal family; a sword taken from the grasp of a dead dwarf in the deep Roads, a painting of King Maric and Queen Rowan clad in the wonderful finery they had worn at their wedding, a shield used by Queen Moira during the rebellion against the occupation. Only one thing was out of place; sat in the high-backed chair where Maric and later Cailan had held court sat a foul creature; it resembled the rotting corpse of a mage, clad in red and gold finery in the style of Tevinter, a gold diadem perched upon its decrepit brow, long claws idly tapping the wood of the chair's arms.

The sloth demon looked up at his approach, burning red lights gleaming in its sunken eye sockets. If it felt any fear at the armed warriors advancing on it, weapons drawn, it showed no sign.

"Well, what do we have here?" the creature on the throne burbled. "Rebellious minions? Escaped slaves? My, my, but you have some gall!" The thing's condescending smile fell away, contorting into a rictus grimace, the red lights that served it for eyes narrowing angrily. "But playtime is over now. You _all_ have to go back now!"

_All?_' Erin thought, confused, before she heard a loud crack and she looked round to see familiar faces taking shape.

"Oh, here I am. And there you are. You just disappeared!" Alistair pouted, before taking in their surroundings and the demon before them, his eyes widening in shock. "Oh well, no matter"

"You tried to keep us from each other," Leliana snarled angrily, her bow drawn and an arrow nocked to the string. "You kept us apart because you fear us, don't you?"

"You cannot hold us here, demon! We found each other in this place, and you _cannot_ stand against us!" Wynne bellowed.

"I'm going to make you regret the day you ever heard of me, you rotting bastard…" Tristan hissed.

"You dare drop me in a mockery of my clan?" Tira growled. "I will make you suffer dearly…"

"If you go back quietly, I'll do much better" the demon whispered. "I'll make you much happier..."

The creature clicked its fingers, and a shimmering haze surrounded them. Looking round, Conrí saw the demon's skeletal form was gone; it had taken a far more horrifying form. The sloth demon smiled indulgently at Conrí and Erin in the form of Bryce Cousland, just as they remembered their father; whole, hale, full of life and joy, those bright eyes gleaming with paternal warmth and pride.

The demon-Bryce clicked its fingers again, and other figures began to join them; Mother, Fergus, Oriana, Oren began to approach him, while the others found people they held dear advancing on them; a vision of Duncan stood beside Alistair, Leliana found herself in the embrace of a creature in the form of a beautiful brunette woman of middle years who Conrí assumed was someone Leliana had known in Orlais, and Wynne was in the company of two figures Conrí didn't recognize; a young man in the robes of an enchanter and a young male elf clad in the robes of an apprentice. Conrí didn't know who they were, but assumed they were of importance to Wynne. Tamlen had taken his place at Tira's side, and a group of mages gathered near Tristan. Blair was flanked by a pair of young elves; one male with dark brown hair and the other female with flaming red locks.

"You see, I can give you your every wish. All I ask is that you stay..." it spoke softly, but Conrí brushed aside the comforting embraces of his loved ones, threw aside the demon's hands and spat in its face.

"You think a crude mockery of what I hold dear will convince me to let you sap the very life from my flesh? I want nothing from you but my freedom, now release us or die!"

The demon-Bryce's indulgent look faded away, as did the images it had conjured for the others, replaced by a look of fury. "I made you happy and safe. I gave you peace! I did my best for you and you say you want to leave?" the demon snarled.

"Yes, now either release us or I'll carve my way to freedom through you!" Conrí roared.

"You won't strike me..."

"You are not my father, just a foul thing wearing his face! NOW DIE!"

"You wish to battle me? So be it… you will learn to bow to your betters, mortal!"

The demon roared, conjuring a jet of flame that it let loose at Conrí, Erin and Blair. Before the eldritch flames reached them, Conrí and Erin shifted into their Burning Man shapes, absorbing the flames better than any magical shield. Leliana yelled a battle cry in Orlesian and loosed her arrow; it flew straight and struck the demon in its eye; the fiend howled in pain and its concentration lapsed. Two more arrows from Tira struck it in the chest, staggering the demon, but it managed to recover itself and fend off Conrí and Erin's fiery attack. The flames was barely inches from the demon's torso when suddenly, its own spell dissipated. The demon-Bryce's eyes went wide with shock as it looked round and saw Alistair, his hand raised, a sphere of energy disappearing as his templar training kicked in. The flames from the twins blasted the demon back. A spell of ice conjured by Wynne quickly enveloped the demon, trapping it before it could recover. Desperately trying to break free, its magic hindered by Alistair's templar abilities, the sloth demon was reduced to begging for its life against those it had underestimated. Its eyes went wide, desperate with fear as its captive advanced on it.

"Please, I beg you, don't do this..." the demon-Bryce pleaded.

"Shut up! You are not him!" Conrí bellowed in the face of its begging, raising his sword.

"I can give you whatever you want… anything you wish!"

"Your underlings tried that," the Warden spat, and then whirled on his heel. The sloth demon gave a final shriek before the shining claymore beheaded it.

A blinding flash of light erupted, enveloping them all...


	16. Broken Circle Part 2

Chapter 16 Broken circle Part 2

_AN: Well, I've gotten a some reviews that I couldn't answer directly. In answer to a question a few people asked, I didn't forget about Oriana, Oren and Iona. I have a plan for Lothering that goes against the norm of most fics and especially canon. Don't worry, I didn't save them in Castle Cousland just let them die in Lothering. But that's all I can say since it happens within the next few chapters. Lastly I want to say thanks for all the encouragement from everyone._

Conrí jerked awake, sitting up quickly. His eyes had risen just quickly enough to see the abomination slump to the ground, its head rolling across the floor not far away.

The others began to stir on the floor where they had fallen.

"Ah, good to see you're hard at work saving the Circle," a familiar voice chirped. The group whirled round to see Garik entering the room, daggers drawn. Serena joined him, glancing about for foes.

"Garik, Serena, what are you doing here?" Alistair asked. "I thought you two decided to stay behind and protect the mages?"

"You were gone for hours," Garik told them. "We worried something had happened to you and it was up to the two of us to save the Circle. We decided to see if we could find you or if there was anything we could do. Sadly, Xolana here was the only one to come with us," Garik gestured to a figure behind him who stepped into the chamber; it was Xolana Amell, the blood mage they had spared. Her ebony hair was less messy than it had been, now falling to her shoulders and tied back at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were firmly downcast to the floor, not looking at the others, still fearful that the offer of mercy might have been temporary.

"Uldred and his remaining allies are holed up in the Harrowing Chamber," Xolana murmured. "We should hurry; I can feel the Veil shifting, even worse than here. Something powerful and terrible is happening up there."

"Then let's go," Conrí commanded, but Wynne stopped, kicked the sloth demon's headless body off the dead mage and pulled the scroll of parchment from his grasp.

"May the Maker guide you to rest, Niall," she whispered, standing up with the acquisition. "The Litany of Adralla," Wynne explained as she held out the parchment. "It should avail us much in the coming battle."

"Then let us go and end this," Conrí replied simply as Xolana led the way forward.

* * *

Irving banged on the steel doors of the tower's atrium with the back end of his staff, which he had retrieved from his office. The crowd had gathered behind him - a combination of the Wardens and their companions, the surviving mages, full enchanters, youths, children, and the sole templar to survive being sealed in the tower - all keeping a good distance from the mages and watching with bated breath, uncertain whether the templars would greet them with open arms or drawn swords. Wynne felt that the answer might be a foregone conclusion, considering the murderous glare Cullen was directing at Xolana Amell's back, but the Grey Wardens had done what was asked of them when they entered the tower, and now Wynne could only hope Greagoir kept his side of the bargain.

"Greagoir," Irving called in a weak voice. "Open this door!"

Silence followed, and no answer. Cullen stepped forward and called out, "Knight-Commander, it's me! It's Cullen! Open the door, it's over!"

More silence followed, and then finally, muffled through the steel portal, they heard Greagoir shouting "Open those doors, but be ready for anything! For all we know, it could be demons impersonating our colleagues behind them!"

There was the sound of locks turning and with a great creak, the steel doors swung open, revealing the sight of Knight-Commander Greagoir and a handful of templars crowded around the door, swords drawn and ready. The only emotion displayed was by Greagoir, the only man not wearing a full helm, whose face changed from suspicious wariness, to astonishment as he saw the tired, weary, but mercifully human faces looking back at him.

"Irving?" the Knight-Commander's voice was brimming with relief. "Maker's breath, I did not expect to see you alive!"

"It is over, Greagoir," said Irving, running a weary hand over his face. "This whole affair was Uldred's doing, and now he is dead."

Greagoir nodded; Wynne knew that the Knight-Commander had never liked the conniving little toad. Few tears would have been shed for Uldred anyway; once word that he was behind the massacre got out, he would be reviled for a good long time to come.

A third voice cut in at this point. "Uldred tortured the mages, hoping to break their will and turn them into abominations. We don't know how many of them have turned." Wynne whirled round, angrily glaring at the speaker. She could empathize with Cullen for what he had suffered at the hands of Uldred and his lackeys, but to try and use his prejudice to condemn the surviving mages to extermination was beyond an outrage.

Irving's exhaustion melted away as he shot a furious glare at the templar. "Do not be ridiculous, you little fool! You would let your prejudice condemn innocent men, women, _children_ to death?"

"Of course he'll say that; he might be a blood mage! Don't you know what they did? I won't let that happen again!"

Greagoir coldly cut across his knight-lieutenant's protests. "I am the Knight-Commander here, _not _you."

"And what is the Knight-Commander's decision?" Conrí interjected. Wynne could not fail to notice that the Warden's hand was snaking to the hilt of his sword, ready in case Cullen tried to incite the templars to violence, but it was not needed. Wynne watched as Greagoir scrutinized Cullen, seeing the signs of hysteria and lyrium deprivation as clearly having impacts on his mental state and his demands.

"We have won back the tower," Greagoir shrugged. "I will accept Irving's assurances all is well."

Cullen clearly wouldn't let it drop, making one last feeble protest, but Greagoir silenced him. "Enough Cullen, I expected better from you!" Turning to the rest of his men, the Knight-Commander issued commands. "Take the children and the apprentices somewhere they can rest; this whole experience will have been trying enough for them, I won't make them suffer more than they already have." As his templars hastened to obey his commands, leading the younger mages somewhere they could recuperate, Greagoir helped Irving to a seat in the atrium and let out another relieved sigh, running a gauntleted hand through his hair.

"So Uldred was behind it after all? I suppose we should have all been more suspicious about how he survived Ostagar and his claims about the regent. But how did you manage to stop him?"

"That's quite a story..." Tristan replied, and Wynne remembered the arduous final battle that had played out to save the Circle...

* * *

_Armored feet raced up the steps to the Harrowing Chamber. Conrí slammed an armored shoulder into the heavy door and looked in upon a scene of utter chaos. Lightning pulsated and danced around the walls and ceiling of the chamber, bathing the room in flickering blue light. Huddled in a corner, bound and gagged by magical restraints, a group of mages huddled, a mix of male and female, human and elf, watching the horrific spectacle unfolding in front of them with eyes wide with terror._

_In the centre of the chamber, a trio of abominations were dancing and writhing around a hapless mage, while, as Wynne watched, a familiar figure clad in green and maroon robes approached the poor fellow, seized the man's jaw and forced the terrified captive to look him in the face._

"_Do you accept the gift that I offer?"_

_With the exception of herself and the Mage elf, the group looked away from the torturous ritual unfolding; Alistair and Conrí turning away, the latter allowing the Orlesian girl to use his hand to cover her eyes. The poor mage's flesh began to expand and elongate, the skin twisting and ripping as bones protruded through, nails elongating into claws. Soon the man was gone, and in his place, another abomination got to its feet, flexing its limbs. In the deafening silence that followed, the group began to advance into the room, the sound of their footsteps ringing out in the silent room as loud as the bells of the Grand Cathedral. The bald mage and his abomination minions whirled round at the noise, the mage's face twisting into a malevolent grin._

"_Ah, an intruder. I bid you welcome; care to join in our revels?"_

"_One assumes you're the infamous Uldred?" Alistair asked with a dry smile. Conrí, his face contorted into a murderous snarl, nodded angrily. "It's him. I remember him from Ostagar; he was at Cailan's council of war, offering to light Ishal's beacon instead of the Wardens..."_

_Uldred gave a supercilious smile, those cold, weasel-like eyes gleaming maliciously. "I must admit though, I'm quite impressed you're still alive. Unfortunately, that must mean you've killed a great many of my servants." The bald mage's face faced twisted into a petulant scowl, like a child denied a promised toy, before it faded away. "Oh well, they're probably better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the terrible responsibility of independence."_

"_Oh, I'm so sorry," Conrí sarcastically replied. "Are you upset I killed your lackeys? Well don't worry, you'll soon follow them into the grave!"_

_For the first time, a sliver of fear crept into Uldred's eyes. "Wait, let's not be too hasty, boy! I'm trying to have a civilized conversation here!"_

"_What would a monster like you know about civility?"_

"_A mage is but the larval form of something greater!" Uldred snarled, his eyes bright and his voice thick with the zeal of a fanatic. "Your Chantry vilifies us, calls us abominations, when we have reached our full potential! Look at them!" he spat, gesturing at the group of tied up mages cowering in the corner. "The Chantry has them convinced! They deny themselves the pleasure of becoming something GLORIOUS!"_

"_YOU'RE MAD, ULDRED!" Wynne shouted, her voice thick with fury and hate she didn't know she possessed. "There is NOTHING glorious in what you have become!"_

"_Ah, Wynne, I see; stubborn as ever! And Xolana Amell, back to see me again, how wonderful! You were so eager to learn; what secrets will you have me teach you this time? And how will you repay me for them?" he hissed, his smile taking a rather lecherous look._

"_I want nothing from you but your head, you bastard!" the young woman shouted back. "I was blind, too hungry for knowledge to see the truth! You are a monster, Uldred, and by helping you, I am no better than you. The only way to start making amends for my stupidity, my sins, is to kill you!"_

"_Uldred?" the bald mage chuckled. "He is gone. I am Uldred, and yet not Uldred; I am more than he was. I could give you both this gift, you and all mages. It would be so much easier if you just accepted it… but some people can be sooo stubborn." he finished with a petulant sigh._

"_What do you expect, you monster? You're destroying their lives!" Leliana screamed at him._

_Uldred tossed up his arms in annoyance. "Resistance! Everywhere I go, resistance! How very inconsiderate. What would you know of such matters, stupid girl? I even have the First Enchanter on my side, don't I Irving?" At this, Uldred snapped his fingers, magically dragging a bearded old man to his side. _

_Wynne's eyes went wide with horror as she recognized the exhausted captive, weakened and unable to move. "W-what have you done to him?"_

"_Stop him," Irving choked weakly. "He... is building an army. He will... destroy the templars and—"_

_Uldred shook his head in disapproval, but his voice gave away the amusement he felt at the situation. "You're a sly little fox, Irving, telling on me like that. And here I thought he was starting to turn."_

_"N-never!"Irving snarled, spitting the words and a great deal of saliva and blood into Uldred's face._

"_That's enough out of you, Irving!" Uldred snapped, striking the old man a blow that knocked him back to the floor. "He'll serve me soon enough… as will you," he turned his gaze back to the Wardens and their companions, looking at them as if they were rare and valuable jewels he just had to possess. "Your raw potential, with the strength of a demon behind it, would be unstoppable."_

_"Yeah, sorry. That doesn't sound like anything a dwarf like me wants anything to do with," Garik snarked._

"_Oh, enough! Enough of this insane prattle!" Tristan snarled. "You are going to die for what you've done here! And then I'll have the mages bring you back so we can kill you again!"_

"_Fight if you must," Uldred replied with a resigned shrug. "It'll just make my victory all the sweeter."_

_The last syllables had barely left his mouth when three arrows buried themselves in Uldred's chest, one after the other. The sheer shock of the act spurred the others to attack; two of the four abominations flanking Uldred fell limp to the floor, Garik having embedded a throwing knife through the creatures' eyes into their skulls. The third abomination was set ablaze by a stream of fire from Xolana; as the monster desperately tried to put out the flames chewing its flesh, Conrí ran it through._

_Alistair drove his sword through the chest of the fourth as his templar training dispelled whatever sorceries it had been trying to summon._

_Leliana lowered her bow, but to her and the others' shock, Uldred remained on his feet. He staggered back a few steps, staring at the arrows jutting from his chest, but they seemed more to amuse him. "Oh, you're going to have to do much better than that..." he sighed._

_A blast of white light exploded from Uldred's bleeding chest, engulfing him with the accompanying sound of ripping clothing and flesh and a bestial roar._

_The light began to recede, revealing a form Tristan had only seen once. A hideous and gargantuan beast that appeared to be a fusion of human, insect and reptile. The creature glared at them with six small, cruel eyes as black as jet. Its hulking form was at least the size of an ogre, its scaly flesh purple with an insectile black and spiky carapace running down its back. Its lizard-like head twisted from side to side as it tried to choose who to kill first, running a pale forked tongue over rows of jagged teeth, and idly flexing its clawed hands._

"_A pride demon!" Tristan barked. "Watch yourselves! And don't forget the Litany!"_

_The pride demon roared and swung a boulder-sized fist at Serena. She managed to block the blow with her shield, but the fist struck with the force of a stone shot from a catapult, and Serena was hurled back to the floor in a shower of splinters as the blow shattered the whitewood shield into pieces._

_Serena shook her head, dazed and in pain. Several ribs felt cracked but she forced himself to move, rolling to one side, ignoring the pain screaming through her body as the demon's fist descended, pulverizing the space where her head had been seconds before._

_The demon-Uldred gave a growl of frustration that swiftly turned into a screech as a pair of arrows blinded two of its eyes. Alistair and Garik pressed the attack, Alistair stabbing his blade into the monster's groin as it pawed feebly at its eyes, while Garik slid between and under its legs, slicing his daggers behind him as he passed in an effort to slice the beast's hamstrings and cripple it, but his blades barely cut through the thing's hide. Howling in fury, the demon kicked out behind and lashed out in front of it, a clawed foot slamming into the small of Garik's back and sending him flying into a wall, while a fist struck Alistair square in the face; he fell to the floor, limp as a sack of potatoes and out cold. The demon glared angrily at the two foes it had just bested, but then seemed to dismiss them, in favor of easier prey; the bound and restrained mages._

_Leliana continued to loose arrows, and Wynne and Xolana shot magical projectiles, but such things were like trying to kill a dragon with bee stings; the demon seemed little more than mildly annoyed by their attacks. Towering over the captive mages, the demon spread its hands wide, wisps of power forming and coalescing into a glowing sphere of energy, illuminating the demon's already foul features in a horrific manner._

"_Do you accept the gift that I offer?" the demon spat._

_Reacting without thinking, Wynne unfurled the Litany and shouted the incantation inscribed upon it. The demon howled in frustration as the power it had been trying to summon dissipated like smoke on the wind. The pride demon bellowed as it began to advance on them._

_Serena desperately staggered to her feet, her axe held out in front of her, but she was constantly shaking her head, as if trying to clear it; Wynne was enough of a healer to know the signs of a concussion when she saw it. Her shield was gone, and judging by the way she was clutching her side told her the dwarf's ribs were cracked, perhaps even broken. Still, she fought bravely, stabbing and slashing her axe to try and keep the demon at bay._

_Conrí fought beside her, his huge blade drawing blood at least half a dozen times until Uldred grew tired of the dance and smashed the Warden aside, the Orlesian girl letting out a yelp of horror as he hit the wall and fell to its base with a loud thud, the steel breastplate he wore smashing at the force of the impact._

_Tristan was similarly batted aside, but the young elven mage didn't have the benefit of armor. Wynne quickly moved to the fallen elf, healing the splintered ribs as best she could._

_Leliana looked torn between running to Conrí's side and standing to protect the two mages, but Wynne couldn't see what she could do; three women, all tired and wounded, trying to defeat one of the most powerful denizens of the Fade. It would have been challenging enough trying to do it rested and prepared, but here, wounded and weary from the battles through the tower and their sojourn through the Fade, she could not see how they would manage it. The pride demon bore down on them, once more twisting its head from side to side as it decided which one to kill first, and Wynne feared they wouldn't have the power to stop it._

"_We have all the power we need, Wynne," a soft voice murmured. She looked round to see Xolana, one of Garik's daggers in her hand and a strange look on her face. "All you need is the will to use it."_

"_No, you cannot mean to do this!" the older mage shouted, realizing what the girl intended._

_Xolana shook her head. "In this case, the end _does_ justify the means!"_

_With a feral roar, Xolana Amell drew the dagger across the palm of her left hand. Transferring the blade to her wounded hand, the mage repeated the same action to her right hand. It took but seconds for the blood to paint the palms of her hands crimson, and as Uldred reached out a clawed hand to seize her, Xolana spat a dark word in the language of magic. Her right hand burst into flame, as if she were wearing a bright red glove… and at the same time, a flaming hand formed of blazing spectral energy wrapped itself around the pride demon's throat. Xolana shouted the same word again, and her left hand became ablaze, as a second hand formed of magical energy seized the demon-Uldred by the waist, lifting the pride demon clear of the ground. The demon struggled against its restraints, but Xolana's blood magic held it in place._

"_I will not be harmed by a mortal whelp like you! I am the greatest of my kind; you will not stop me, and I will make you dance like puppets on strings before I make you watch me feast on your hearts...!" the pride demon's rant was abruptly cut off as Xolana's right hand closed into a fist, and the magic around the demon's neck tightened to choke it in response._

"_Go to hell," the young mage snarled, pulling her hands apart… and the magic holding the pride demon ripped it in two. The two halves of the demon crashed wetly to the floor, thrashing and twitching spasmodically before falling still. The second its death tremors stopped, the demon's corpse began to dissolve into a bubbling pool of black ichor._

"_Oh, Maker… I'm getting too old for this!" a familiar voice groaned._

_Wynne whirled round to see a elderly bearded mage getting to his feet, along with the others, freed of their magical restraints by Uldred's death. "Irving, are you alright?" Wynne asked._

_Irving shook his head groggily to clear it, groaning wearily. "Uh, I've been better, but I am thankful to be alive. I assume that is your doing, Wynne?"_

"_I wasn't alone. I had help..." Wynne murmured looking to Xolana and the now stirring Tristan._

"_Please, help them!" a strident voice called out desperately. Wynne looked round to see Leliana on her knees beside Conrí, who was unconscious, his armor in tatters, barely clinging to his form. Xolana was at her side in a second, casting minor healing spells to try and close his wounds. Wynne raced over to the two women and leapt to work immediately, pouring magical energy to restore and bring health back to the injured Warden, while Irving and the other mages tended to Alistair and the wounded dwarves._

_Conrí regained consciousness with a start, gasping for breath. "Get this thing off me!" he wheezed, scrambling for the straps of his armor. "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" Leliana nearly panicked, drawing her belt knife and slicing through the leather straps with almost alarming ease. After the breastplate was peeled off, he slumped back, panting. _"_Well, this is new..." he joked upon realizing his position in Leliana's arms. Leliana blushed as she helped him to his feet._

_Their other companions were coming to as well; Alistair groggily clutching his head as two mages helped him to his feet, while the former castless idly brushed aside offers of assistance from the mages tending to him and began to scoop portions of the puddle of black ichor that had once been Uldred into glass vials, doubtless to refine and distil the demonic essence into a powerful poison. Erin, who had been knocked for a loop when one of the abominations exploded, soon got to her feet._

_Tira and Blair, who had been watching Cullen, came running in, no doubt drawn by the sudden quiet._

"_The Circle owes you both a debt we may never be able to repay. Come, the templars await; we should let them know the tower is secure."_

"_Yes, let us hurry before the Right arrives, or the templars decide they've waited long enough and decide to storm the tower anyway..." Xolana nodded in agreement._

_Irving took the lead out of the Harrowing Chamber, muttering angrily at the top of the stairs "Ah, curse whoever decided the Circle should be housed in a tower."_

"Incredible, truly incredible" Greagoir muttered as the tale reached its conclusion, though the story had some editing of course. "I am amazed that you were able to succeed, Warden, but I thank you nonetheless. You have proven yourself a friend of the templars and the Circle."

"And what of the darkspawn? That was the very reason we came here..." Alistair cut in.

"I promised you aid, but with the Circle restored, my duty is to watch the mages. They, however, are free to aid you."

The words had no sooner left his mouth when Irving interjected. "The least we can do is help you against the darkspawn; I would hate to survive this only to be overcome by the Blight. You have my word, as First Enchanter. The Circle will join the Grey Wardens in their fight!"

"Irving, I have a request," Wynne spoke for the first time since the Harrowing Chamber. "I seek leave to follow the Grey Wardens."

"Wynne, we need you here. The Circle needs you..." Irving began, but Wynne cut him off with a soft smile and a shake of the head.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Irving, but the Circle will do fine without me. The Circle has _you_. This man is brave and good, and capable of great things. If he will accept my aid, I will assist him in this endeavor."

"I don't see why not," Conrí said from his place near the quarter master. He'd learned his breastplate was a total loss and would need a replacement. Most of the other pieces were in very rough shape as well, so he decided to trade it all in for a set of fine viridium heavy chain. We could use a good healer. Surana's powerful but not the best when it comes to creation magic." At Wynne's surprised expression, Conrí shrugged. "You can learn a lot wandering around in the fade. I just happened to find a few magic books."

"You never were one to stay in the tower when there was adventure to be had elsewhere." Irving chuckled softly.

Wynne merely gave an unconcerned shrug of the shoulders. "Why stay, when I can be of service elsewhere?"

"I give you leave to follow the Grey Wardens, but know you always have a place here..."

Suddenly, the sound of running feet could be heard; looking round, they saw it was the young mage, Xolana Amell, running towards them, wearing a heavy travelling cloak of bear fur and a leather pack on her shoulders. She had her staff in hand and a determined look on her face. "First Enchanter Irving, I also beg leave to follow the Wardens in their endeavor against the Blight!"

"Not a chance, girl!" Greagoir snapped. "You're going back into solitary confinement to finish off the six months I assigned you for your part in that Jowan fiasco!"

"I had nothing to do with Jowan!" Xolana snapped. "You locked me up because you couldn't get at Surana anymore, and for no other reason besides I was Jowan's friend too!"

"Knight-Commander, that woman's a blood mage! I saw her working with Uldred's cronies! She must be punished further!"

"Cullen, don't be a fool! If I was on Uldred's side, why would I be here now?" she snapped, but the templar would not be placated.

"Do not think to overwhelm my vigilance with your sorceries, woman!"

"And now we get to the crux of the matter!" Xolana sneered, gesturing at her breasts with one hand and waving the other dismissively. "You don't want me punished; you just want to make sure I don't leave the tower so you have something to leer at when you're having a rough day! What, you think I wouldn't notice your eyes on my arse every time I walk past you?" she snapped at the incredulous look of outrage on the templar's face.

"How dare you suggest such a thing! How dare you insinuate that I would be so weak as to put base desires above my duty to the Maker..." Cullen snarled, fingering the hilt of his sword. As the argument between the templar and the mage became more vicious, Leliana sidled up to Conrí and whispered something in his ear. Wynne didn't know what words passed between them, but clearly whatever the girl said had struck a chord with the Warden because he interjected himself between the arguing pair with a determined expression.

"Enough!" Conrí snapped. "I am taking this matter out of your hands. First Enchanter Irving, I am invoking the Right of Conscription on Xolana Amell. The templars will turn her over to the custody of the Grey Wardens!" his eyes found Greagoir. "Or do I have to drop you again, Greagoir?"

It took a moment for the shock of the act to settle in. Cullen looked as though he were about to explode. "What? No! Knight-Commander, this cannot be allowed!"

"I'm afraid it can."

"But-,"

"Enough, Cullen!" Greagoir snapped. "That is my final word on this matter." The ageing Knight-Commander found the de facto Warden Commander's eyes. A nod was all the thanks he would receive.

"In any case, Xolana's talents would be of far better use against the Blight than cooped up here; if the Grey Wardens wish her service, I will not stop them. Now, if there is nothing else, I would take my leave; there is much to do here..."

Conrí nodded. The quarter master came forward and helped Conrí pull his new armor on. He noticed a few shapes on the breastplate where the ageing was different. When the Warden looked at the quartermaster with a raised brow, the man shrugged, tightening the strap on the pauldron. "It had a templar insignia welded on. I pried the pieces off since I heard you didn't much care for the Order."

Conrí nodded. "My thanks."

Rather than bunk in the tower for the night the group decided to head back across the lake to rejoin the others. After Carroll had deposited the group on the bank, Morrigan approached, having seen the ferry crossing. "I take it the Chantry's pets are living up to their word?" she asked dismissively.

"Aye, though I wish you wouldn't put it that way," Conrí grunted in exhaustion.

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "We have some news."

"Oh?" Erin asked, setting aside her swords. "Do tell."

"A merchant stopped by not long after you left. Seemed eager to offload quite a bit of stock. He even gave us this," Morrigan pulled a crystalline rod from her belt. "He says it is a control rod for a golem. The little I know of such things says a golem could be quite useful."

"How much did he want for it?" Conrí asked, taking the proffered device.

"Nothing, which surprised me. There is a catch, however," Morrigan shook her head. "The golem didn't come with the rod."

"Well, then where is it?" Serena asked, examining the rod.

"A little town not too far, called Honnleath."

* * *

Early the next morning, the Wardens and their companions packed up camp and turned west towards the Frostback Mountains. Xolana seemed a bit leery around anyone besides Tristan, so she spoke mostly with her fellow mage that day. The group had been walking most of the day when the topic of freedom came up between the two mages.

"So how's it feel to finally be able to stretch your legs, Amell?" Tristan asked, shouldering his staff.

Xolana stretched her limbs out purposefully to highlight the point and then offered the elf a toothy grin. "Utterly... FABULOUS."

"Glad to hear it," Tristan snickered, before sending Conrí a slight glare. "Even if we are stuck with a noble brat as a commander."

"Oh I don't know... it's not all that bad," Xolana told him, looking the "noble brat" up and down appreciatively from behind.

Tristan rolled his eyes. "Well, no accounting for your taste or lack thereof, this isn't gonna be a cakewalk."

"Oh don't be such a sourpuss. Cakewalk or not, at least we're doing something productive, not being forced into dingy little slums or towers against our wills."

"You have no idea how right you are," Blair muttered. "But you're going to have to prove yourself, Xolana."

Xolana raised eyebrow. "And you think I'm not gonna live up to expectation?"

"No offense, but your first showing wasn't exactly impressive," Blair sniffed.

"Excuse me?" Xolana glared.

Blair held up her hands. "Just calling it as I see it, Xolana," she said.

Xolana crossed her arms. "Well what exactly would you do if someone tried to kill your friends?"

"To be fair," Tristan interjected. "Severus attacked first. Then again, he always was a bit of a greasy bastard."

"Just," Tira interrupted before Xolana could retort. "Direct your spells at the darkspawn and you'll do fine."

Xolana relaxed with a grunt. "That was the plan."

"Good," Conrí snipped, smacking both Xolana and Tristan on the back of the head. "Let's keep it that way, yeah?" Tristan glared while Wynne looked at Alistair in confusion.

"He does that if we get too far off track," The former templar explained with a shrug. "Glad I'm not the only recipient anymore."

"So much hostility today," Xolana muttered, rubbing her head. "One would think it was YOU all who needed to get laid, not myself."

"She did help us take down Uldred," Leliana told them diplomatically. "Try to be nice."

Conrí grunted, rolling his eyes.

Xolana chuckled. "Sweet little Leliana. Come to protect me from the big bad wolves?"

"You are more than capable of that, I'm sure," Leliana giggled.

"Be that as it may, that's still very sweet of you," the blood mage smirked. The Wardens would soon come to be wary of that smirk. "I may have to think of a way to show my gratitude."

"Ooh, really?" said Leliana with an intrigued smile. "What did you have in mind?

"Oh I'm sure we could come to some sort of agreement..."

"Sounds like fun."

"Keep it child friendly for the moment, ladies," Conrí smirked.

"Aww spoilsport..." Xolana jutted out her hip with a pout. "You can watch if you REALLY want…"

"Tempting, but we need to find a place to camp for the night."

Xolana sighed. "There always has to be a voice of reason, doesn't there. Very well then."

"Rather depressing that it has to be me," Conrí grunted.

* * *

After the relative calm of the days before, the Wardens began to feel tense as they approached Honnleath. Only two of them really understood why. The group came over a rise and the smell of taint hit them all.

The Darkspawn were sacking Honnleath.


End file.
